


Not Altogether Respectable

by SheOfTheBookAndSong



Series: Not Altogether Respectable [1]
Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Alfred Paget is officially panicking, Alfred is trying to protect Edward, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Confrontations with Charles Drummond, Corn Law Repeal, Developing Relationship, Difficult Decisions, Drummond has New Feels, Drums is awake now, Edward Drummond Lives, Edward Drummond is a gay disaster, Edward Drummond is reckless and in love, Edward has a new job, First Kiss, Florence Kerr hates her father, Florence is third wheeling, Fluff and Smut, Fly Fishing, Internalized Homophobia, Irish Potato Famine, Jealous Alfred Paget, Lake District, Letters to Parents, Looking for the Queen, M/M, New Friends, Oh god Wilhemina what have you done, Period-Typical Homophobia, Picnic in France, Revelations of Love, Scottish lakes, St Bartholomew's Hospital, THAT dinner, Terrible poetry, The Duchess of Buccleuch is scary, The Marquess of Lothian is terrifying, The wedding day has arrived, Trip to Scotland, Victoria and Albert are safe, Why won't Wilhemina shut up, advice from new friends, an indiscretion, and the angst increases, angsty horse riding, french court, gay flirting, home from hospital, incredibly uncomfortable honeymoon, mutual apologies, reading Oliver Twist together, that incident, that letter, that letter has been seen, truly ridiculous levels of fluff, unconscious Drums
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-05-06 03:05:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 145,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14632782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheOfTheBookAndSong/pseuds/SheOfTheBookAndSong
Summary: Ambitious, intelligent, wealthy and handsome, Mr Edward Drummond has always done what was expected of him, including entering into an engagement with the honourable Lady Florence Kerr.However, he is slowly beginning to realise that his feelings for the beautiful and flirtatious Lord Alfred Paget are....not altogether respectable.This story begins with the visit to the French court which happens in Episode 5 of Season 2. However, this version of the story will explore the consequences after Edward Drummond is wounded outside Parliament, rather than killed. What happens when he refuses to give up on Alfred, but cannot leave Florence? And what happens if Florence starts to get an inkling of the truth?Fluff, drama, and angst abound!





	1. Sunlit Lakes and Moonlit Strolls

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote the first chapter of this story as a oneshot a few months ago.  
> However, since that time, the various Drumfred fics on this site and their wonderfully talented and dedicated authors - special shout out to Lucky Moony, Whydidtheydothis and starknight - have inspired me to take my oneshot and turn it into the first chapter of a multichapter fic! 
> 
> Super excited to contribute something to the wonderful and supportive community which has formed around these beautiful boys! The writers here have given me such joy over the past couple of months - so, at long last, here is a little something in return!

 

Still soaking wet, Edward laughed as he shivered violently in the sunlight, unable to stop himself from grinning at Alfred as the other man did the same.

He couldn’t help himself - he adored being around Alfred, he looked forward to seeing his face light up, hearing the sound of his laugh - even just being around him made Edward feel more at ease. He didn’t know why this was, exactly. He just breathed easier when he knew that Alfred was there, his tension disappeared - he felt that there was somebody else who understood him. Edward was so used to feeling different to everyone around him - he had always been extremely cautious, feeling that he had some secret to protect, though he was unable to put a name to it. He had felt alone in hiding this secret for so long - but as soon as he first saw Alfred, as soon as Alfred sent him that knowing half-smirk across the room, he knew that Alfred understood, that Alfred knew what it was to keep part of yourself hidden.

It was as if both of them had this strange secret, and they knew that the other knew it - and yet they were not able to discuss this secret with each other, they couldn’t fully acknowledge it.

 

They were friends, the best of friends, and Edward felt immensely lucky to have this closeness and intimacy that he had never felt with anyone before, certainly not anyone of the fairer sex. And yet - there was something missing. It felt ridiculous and ungrateful even thinking that, particularly as he couldn’t even explain adequately - or at least acceptably - _what_ it was that was lacking between them. But he couldn’t deny that he felt _something_ , a warm kind of yearning feeling every time Alfred smirked, or winked, or laughed, or gave him that frank and open look, letting his smooth and polite courtier’s mask fall away for a second. Sometimes, Edward caught himself staring at Alfred for a split second too long, watching him as he stretched his arm back on the archery field, the muscles rippling, or as he leaned nonchalantly against the wall, arms folded, or as he absentmindedly pushed his blonde hair out of his eyes. At these times, some burning feeling seemed to rise up in him and he had to fight down a bizarre and utterly unacceptable impulse to reach out and touch Alfred’s face, to sweep his hair out of his eyes, to place a hand on the other man’s shirt and feel the heartbeat under his palm. Reluctant to question his own feelings any further, all Edward knew was that he needed to be close to Alfred, physically close to him, feel the warmth of his body beside him.

Not being able to find any acceptable excuse for such closeness, however, Edward had spent the past few months resigning himself to the fact that he would have to keep his distance.

 

So, when His Royal Highness, Prince Albert, had suddenly decreed on this diplomatic trip that he was going to take a swim in a beautiful French lake, sans clothes, it had seemed to Edward a blessing too good to be true. It was as if the prince himself was giving them permission to relax, to let down their guard for once, to discard not only their clothes but the careful and dignified facades which they constantly had to wear around court. The Prince’s reckless, naked, uncivilised and unrespectable leap into the cool and sparkling lake made it seem like anything was possible. After all, they were not in London - something about the French court felt more daring and wanton than its English counterpart.

Edward had looked across at Alfred as soon as the prince had stripped off and dived into the lake, a great feeling of recklessness spreading over him.

“Shall we?” he asked, attempting to speak casually without letting his excitement show. As Alfred gazed back at him, Edward saw his own eagerness reflected in Alfred’s bright blue eyes.

“I don’t see why not!”, the other man responded laughingly.

Edward had barely taken his eyes from Alfred as they stripped, so giddy and excited that he could not contain his grin. He could barely believe he was being given this chance to see Alfred in such a natural, unguarded and playful state - finally he felt that he could truly see what was beneath the surface.

Shivering in the cold water, Edward had looked around to see where Alfred had got to, and immediately had felt the warmth of Alfred’s bare skin on his as the blonde man playfully began to wrestle with him. Laughing gleefully, he had enthusiastically joined in. As the pair splashed each other in the early evening sunlight, it seemed for a few glorious minutes as if the rest of the world had gone quiet and peaceful - Alfred’s beautiful smile was all that Edward could see. Being there with Alfred, skin touching skin - somehow, Edward knew that it felt right.

 

All too soon, however, Edward found himself called back to reality by Prince Albert’s voice, as though from a long distance away,  calling for them all to get back before they were missed. Glancing at each other, a world of meaning in one look, Edward and Alfred reluctantly got out of the water - they could hardly keep frolicking, carefree, without the company of the princes. As they pulled on their clothes, shivering yet still unable to keep from laughing with giddiness and excitement, Edward found it near impossible to tear his gaze away from Alfred. Something had shifted between them, he felt it, he saw it in the other man’s eyes.

He was pulled out of his reverie by a polite and somewhat uncomfortable cough. The cough was the Prince’s, clearly trying to attract their attention - and as Edward turned around to look at him, ready to apologise for his inattentiveness, he caught a brief glance between Prince Albert and his brother Ernest. Though fleeting, the look made Edward’s heart sink momentarily. There was a mutual unspoken unease and awkwardness communicated between the princes, as though they had noticed a strange intimacy and joy between the other men that was unusual between friends. 

Edward began to panic slightly - he did not know how to describe his relationship with Alfred even to himself, much less to anyone else, and even less to these powerful men with such influence. He chanced a look at Alfred, who met his eyes - it was clear from Alfred’s warning gaze that he, too, had noticed the princes’ unease. Quickly, the two men looked away from each other, Alfred covering the uncomfortable moment with his usual courtier’s flair, jovially addressing the two princes. Albert and Ernest seemed to relax somewhat with Alfred’s words, laughing as he joked about what on earth the Duchess of Buccleuch would say about their dripping wet appearance.

Though extremely grateful for Alfred’s quick thinking and charm, Edward still couldn’t help feeling a little unnerved. He couldn’t put a name to whatever was happening between him and Alfred, but he did know on some level that whatever he was feeling would be considered wrong, abnormal, even perverse, if anybody found out. Especially if they knew what Edward was barely able to admit to himself - that the thought of going home to Florence, marrying her and lying with her, filled him with dread, while the thought of staying alone with just Alfred filled him with warmth and a tingling feeling of excitement.

It was rapidly becoming impossible to deny to himself that his feelings for Alfred were dangerous. Although swimming in the lake with him had made Edward happier and more relaxed than he could ever remember being - not least because Alfred had seemed just as excited as him - the uneasy look between Princes Albert and Ernest was a grim and unwelcome reminder for Edward. He simply could not afford to give anyone any reason to believe that he and Lord Alfred were anything more than ordinary male friends, smoking cigars and chatting casually about politics and the charms of women. 

Edward followed the other men back to the sumptuous palace in silence, listening to Albert and Ernest’s chatter and doing his best to maintain a distance from Alfred despite his body’s overwhelming instinct to stay close to him.

Once at the palace, the princes strode straight in, Albert muttering something about changing out of his wet clothes before Victoria got back from the lawn party. Edward made to them - but once Albert and Ernest were out of earshot, Alfred reached out to stop Edward with a gentle hand on his shoulder. To any onlookers, it would have merely appeared a casual, thoughtless gesture - but Edward felt it as a very deliberate touch, and his heart instantly skipped a beat. Brown eyes met blue, and Edward tried very hard to appear for all the world as if their interaction was of little interest or importance.

“Care for a cigar, Drummond?”, Alfred asked in an all-too-casual tone, his voice completely at odds with the way his eyes flashed at Edward from beneath his eyelashes.

Edward swallowed, wondering yet again how one sentence and one smirking look from Alfred could have such a ridiculous effect on him.

Struggling to keep his voice as impressively steady and disinterested as Alfred’s had been, he responded, hoping desperately that Alfred would grasp the deeper meaning behind his own words.

“Certainly, Lord Alfred. I wouldn’t go anywhere without my trusty tinderbox.”

Alfred grinned that delicious grin at him, the one that hinted at a secret that only the pair of them knew.

As they had done in Buckingham Palace months before, the pair retired to a balcony looking out over the palace grounds - only this time they were looking out over one of France’s most beautiful estates, rather than England’s. The sun was gradually setting, staining the horizon with astoundingly beautiful pink and gold. Turning to look at Alfred, Edward found himself almost struck speechless. It was hard enough at the best of times to look away from him - but now, in the setting sun, his golden hair gleamed, the play of light on his face made his beautiful pale eyelashes stand out even more than usual. Every inch of him was bathed in the warm light - he looked, Edward thought foolishly to himself, like an Adonis.  

 

As Edward held out his tinderbox so that Alfred could light his cigar with it, Alfred spoke up.

“That was certainly an….intriguing experience this afternoon, wouldn’t you say, Drummond?” His voice was light, teasing, but his deep blue eyes smouldered at Edward. Edward’s breath caught in his throat and he fumbled somewhat with his tinder box - he lit his own cigar and took a puff on it before responding to Alfred, attempting to give himself some time to think and appear less of an idiot. Judging by the somewhat irritating but no less arousing smirk on Alfred’s face, however, he had not actually succeeded in anything except looking even more like a swooning idiot.

“Yes, it was indeed most….illuminating, Lord Alfred”, he responded, wondering as he gazed into Alfred’s face if there was any possibility that he had remotely the same dazzling effect on the shorter blonde man as Alfred had on him.

For a few moments - or perhaps it was a few hours - the two of them stared at each other, drinking each other in.  As they looked at each other, it felt like the rest of the world had once again fallen away, like an eternity held in a second. When Alfred suddenly spoke in his deep, warm voice, it felt to Edward like a sudden jolt, as if some kind of hypnotic spell had been broken. He mentally shook himself, once again irritated and bewildered at this all-encompassing effect Alfred had on him. Having chastised himself, he suddenly realised that he had heard the comforting sound of Alfred’s voice, but hadn’t actually taken in a word he had said.

“I - I’m sorry, could you possibly repeat? I….” He could feel his face burning with embarrassment, and cursed himself again for appearing so ridiculous, but Alfred merely laughed his warm, affectionate laugh.

“I said, Drummond, that perhaps we should take the chance for a little stroll," Alfred said. “These are, after all, remarkably pretty grounds, and I should like the chance to be….illuminated on them further, before I return to London with the Queen. That is, if you would care to join me. I feel I should look rather a lonely fool if I took a stroll alone.”

Edward stared at him. What, exactly, was he suggesting? Searching Alfred’s face, he saw not just the usual amusement and affection in his eyes, but a hint of something else Edward often felt in himself - vulnerability, self-doubt. They had both stripped off their clothing earlier to jump in the lake, but now Alfred seemed to be laying himself bare in a different way. Edward felt a gush of affection for the other man, stronger than he had ever felt before.

Hesitating before answering, he struggled to remember that he must still address Alfred formally, as one friendly courtier would address another. Instinctively, Edward looked around before answering.

“Certainly, Lord Alfred, a stroll in this balmy air would be extremely pleasant," he responded carefully. “But - surely we would be missed by the queen? We cannot just abandon her over dinner, that wouldn’t be very gentlemanly.”

They both knew that the petite queen would likely be too absorbed in political negotiations with the French king to spare much thought for them. Though he dared not say it outright, what Edward actually meant with his words, and what he hoped Alfred understood, was that they could not risk anybody noticing that they were both mysteriously missing from the table at the same time. Not when all of the queen’s entourage was supposed to be at dinner. And especially not when they had already caught a suspicious and uneasy look between the princes earlier that day.

Alfred smiled back at him, clearly catching the meaning behind his words. “Well now, I certainly didn’t mean to suggest that we should abandon the poor queen over dinner, that would be most ungracious," he said smoothly. “I rather thought we should wait until our duties are fully concluded for the day, when we are no longer needed - what say you we meet under this very balcony after nightfall? Say, at midnight?”

Edward closed his eyes briefly as a heady current of desire rushed through him. Alfred had not even suggested anything except a night time walk, but his words spoken in that deep and warm voice, the spiralling scent of the cigars, and the suggestive glint in Alfred’s eyes as Edward met his gaze again, were all combining to make him somewhat dizzy. It was difficult to think straight.

 _We shouldn’t_ , a small voice at the back of his head whispered. _It’s stupid, it’s reckless,…._ But he knew, deep down - and he was sure Alfred did too - that it was no good pretending to themselves anymore. It was far too late, and he was in far too deep. And he wanted this. He wanted it so badly. He cleared his throat and tried his best to keep his voice steady and free of the emotion that was threatening to overcome him.

“Very well - midnight, then, Lord Alfred.”

Alfred’s face cleared of anxiety and, very quickly, he winked at Edward, as he had done once before when pondering their mutual inability to understand the fairer sex. Then, clearly preparing to go back inside and face the rest of the court, Alfred’s flirtatious expression completely disappeared, replaced with an expression of casual friendliness. He bowed his head.

“Very good, Drummond.”

 

***

A few hours later, Edward was pacing up and down inside the bedchamber he had been assigned. He was anxious, on high alert, waiting until the sounds of footsteps and murmuring voices outside had completely ceased, and obsessively checking his pocket watch for the time. He needed to leave very soon if he wanted to meet Alfred on time, in the agreed spot. Part of his brain was tensely going over all the possible ways in which this rendezvous could go wrong, the various people who might catch them or stop them with awkward questions. Another part of him was worrying that he had got everything all wrong, that he had misinterpreted Alfred’s request for a stroll as something more meaningful than it actually was. This waiting was agony.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the footsteps outside faded away. Opening the door a tiny crack to check the coast was clear, Edward could see nothing but a dark and abandoned corridor. Inhaling deeply, and reminding himself that it was now or never, he silently slipped out of his room.

Shivering slightly as he stood under the balcony waiting, Edward tried to relax. But he couldn’t help wondering why midnight had passed, nearly a quarter of an hour ago, and Alfred had still not come to meet him as he had promised. Had he decided against it, decided that Edward was not worth the risk? Or even worse - had he been intercepted and interrogated on his way?

Edward closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing - and, out of nowhere, a hand grasped his shoulder. He jumped a foot in the air before hearing the beautifully warm and familiar laugh of Alfred himself.

“That was too easy, Drummond, really it was.”

Though embarrassed at himself, Edward couldn’t stop himself from laughing along with the other man, relief seeping through him. He grinned, drinking in the sight of Alfred.

“What kept you?”

“My apologies," Alfred responded, sounding genuinely contrite even though his deep voice was still tinged with amusement, “but it occurred to me that we might want some sustenance to take with us.” He lifted up a huge picnic basket, opening the lid to show Edward the foods that were packed to the brim within it.

Edward gaped at the sight of mouthwatering French pastries, juicy cuts of pheasant and chicken, creamy cheeses, oysters - there was even a bottle of champagne tucked away in there.

“But how….?”

“Oh, it was quite simple, you know. Just a last-minute idea I had of bribing some of the kitchen maids. They were really very accomodating.” Edward’s brief flash of jealousy must have shown on his face, for Alfred shook his head, adding “I only meant that I bribed them with money, Drummond. Who did you think you were talking to, Prince Ernest?”

Edward laughed in relief as Alfred continued to look at him with exasperated affection. “No, Lord Alfred. I really wouldn’t say that you have very much in common with His Highness Prince Ernest,” he responded, thinking of the royal womaniser.

Alfred grinned. “I can’t help it if the maids happen to find me charming. But I fear my tastes may perhaps run a little differently.”

He fixed Edward with an intense look, which Edward found he had to look away from after a few seconds- it was like looking at the sun. As so often happened when he was around this man, he felt slightly delirious - his brain seemed reluctant to focus on forming coherent sentences.

“Well, come along then, Lord Alfred," he said, grinning slightly. “After all, you’ve brought this remarkable feast - surely we’ll find _something_ that will appeal to your tastes.”

Alfred laughed, sounding both taken aback and pleased - Edward was not normally quite so forward. Seemingly casual conversation laden with innuendos was usually Alfred’s forte. Edward grinned again, elated to have taken Alfred by surprise, and to have discovered that the other man seemed to enjoy this slightly bolder side. He was even beginning to take himself by surprise with his newfound confidence. Reaching out to take hold of the heavy picnic basket, Edward’s hand brushed against Alfred’s just the tiniest bit, and he felt his skin immediately begin to tingle with electricity. Alfred jumped back slightly as though he hadn’t been expecting the contact, and Edward distinctly heard him draw in a steadying breath. He looked up into Alfred’s face - the blonde was looking vulnerable again, embarrassed by his reaction to Edward’s very slight touch. Edward tried his best not to smirk. He himself had been blatantly obvious often enough about how much he was in Alfred’s thrall - it was somewhat intoxicating to know that he could produce a similar effect.

“I was only going to suggest that I could help you carry the basket, Lord Alfred. There is an awful lot in there," he said quietly. Without taking his eyes away from Alfred’s beautiful blue gaze, he slowly and deliberately reached out his hand again, and placed it gently but firmly over Alfred’s on the basket. They looked at each other, silently acknowledging that whatever they were doing, there was no turning back from it. Alfred gestured with his head towards the moonlit grounds, and, hands still clasped over the basket, they set off down the path.

 

It was odd, Edward thought to himself. How overwhelmingly intimate and peaceful it felt, just to be strolling along the grounds, carrying a picnic basket together in companionable silence, shooting looks at each other and grinning abashedly when they caught each other staring.

He revelled in the soft breeze on his face, the smell of the grass, and especially the feeling of Alfred’s warm and smooth hand under his own. He felt as if all of his senses were more finely tuned tonight than ever before. With nobody else anywhere to be seen, he and Alfred were in a little world of their own, and he was determined to cling onto it while he could.

Stopping at a flat patch of grass which afforded them a sweeping view over the rest of the grounds, they lowered the picnic basket together, hands lingering together for longer than was strictly necessary.

Edward sat down and closed his eyes, wanting to lose himself in the peaceful moment. After a moment, however, he realised Alfred was still standing over him. He opened his eyes and looked up at the blonde, tilting his head quizzically. Alfred had that endearingly familiar look he got when he had spotted a problem, and was trying to figure out what to do. Edward had often seen that look, when Prince Albert was excitedly exclaiming about some new idea he and Peel were planning to bring to the queen’s attention, and Alfred was hesitantly trying to think of a way to politely warn them that their ideas would actually make the headstrong queen furious.

“What is it, Lord Alfred?” he asked. “I know that look.”

Looking increasingly frustrated with himself, Alfred responded, “It’s just….I went to all that effort to pack us a feast, and I completely forgot to bring a blanket! We have nothing to sit on except the ground!”

Edward stared at him for a second, and then burst out laughing. Alfred looked bewildered at this reaction.

“Is that really all there is, Alfred?” Edward sniggered, forgetting in his amused affection to add the prefix ‘Lord’ that he always used when addressing the other man in society.

Alfred’s blue eyes widened in indignation, which did nothing to stop Edward’s giggling.

“Well, we can’t just sit down on the ground," Alfred countered defensively. “We’d completely wrinkle our clothing and we would get dirt on our...on our…” Alfred seemed, for once, to be lost for words.

Edward rolled his eyes, grinning. Being only the son of a middle-class banker, and having worked his own way up to being the Prime Minister’s private secretary and thus earned an invitation into court circles, he occasionally forgot just how much of an aristocrat Alfred was. Alfred had been a fixture of the lavish royal court for so long, and his parents had taught him about it for so long before that, that courtly etiquette and style was second nature to him. Of course he was kind and thoughtful and compassionate to others, and he certainly wasn’t above creating a little mischief, as Edward knew. But it couldn’t be denied that Alfred had a great appreciation for material things such as expensive clothing, which Edward rarely concerned himself with more than absolutely necessary. It was also thoroughly amusing to Edward that, despite Alfred’s frequent pointed innuendos, his dignified aristocratic upbringing meant that he couldn’t bring himself to straightforwardly name certain body parts.

“Well then, _my lord,"_   he teased pointedly, earning himself a look from Alfred that was both indignant and sheepish, “if the thought of sitting on the ground is really so deeply offensive to you, I suggest we make do with an impromptu blanket.” In response to Alfred’s look of confusion, Edward swiftly took off his tailcoat and swept it neatly onto the ground.

Alfred stared at him. “Edward, you can’t be serious.”

He grinned, relishing the fact that Alfred, seemingly without even realising it, had called him intimately by his first name, rather than addressing him formally as ‘Drummond’ as he usually did.

“Why would I not be serious?”, he asked, sitting himself down upon his tailcoat in an ungainly manner and patting the space beside him.

“Well, for one thing, you’ll get your coat filthy..."

Edward rolled his eyes once more. “Yes, a tragedy indeed," he teased.

Alfred still looked hesitant, but Edward had had enough of this dancing around each other all the time. After all, he would have to go home to Florence soon enough (he tried to repress the painful thought as soon as it came to him), and if this was the only time he was going to have alone with Alfred, without the watchful eyes of the court upon them forcing him to conceal his affection - well then, he damned well wasn’t going to let the obstacle of a muddy coat foil him.

Impatiently, he reached up and tugged, hard, on the bottom of Alfred’s expensive tailcoat. Taken completely by surprise, Alfred tumbled down, most uncharacteristically and gracelessly.  Laughing at how ridiculous the other man was being, Edward was interrupted by Alfred’s landing right on top of him.

He barely had time to register the amazingly pleasant feeling of Alfred’s warm body in his lap before Alfred had scrambled off of him, his face more wonderfully flushed than Edward had ever seen it.

“I would apologise for crushing you," Alfred near stammered, “but it seems, Edward, that you are determined to rob me of any remaining dignity I possess.”

Edward grinned at him, again astonishing himself with how lighthearted and daring he felt. “No need to apologise, Alfred. I actually rather enjoyed the experience.”

Alfred seemed struck speechless for a moment, gazing open-mouthed at him until Edward began to worry he had ruined everything and crossed some sort of line. There was shock written across Alfred’s face, but there was something else too that Edward couldn’t precisely identify - something akin to hunger. Finally, Alfred spoke, sounding more sincere and less teasing than Edward had ever heard him.

“Well, I suppose if I were to be completely honest - I rather enjoyed it as well.”

Edward smiled at him, and they sat in silence for a few moments, Edward feeling more understood and loved than he had ever felt before. Tearing his gaze reluctantly away from Alfred, he spoke, unable to keep the joy from his voice.

“Now, about this feast….”

Together, they unpacked the delicious array of food and drink. Edward poured out a glass of champagne for each of them - they toasted each other and drank, making Edward feel somehow even more lightheaded than before. Tasting an oyster, Alfred made a face of melodramatic rapture that sent Edward into a giggling fit, likely assisted by the champagne he had drunk.

“Edward, you simply have to try this," he declared.

“What?”

He suddenly found Alfred mere inches away from his face, holding out the oyster shell. “Taste," he commanded in a voice that was almost a whisper. Trying to ignore the sudden flare of warmth in his stomach that accompanied Alfred’s closeness, Edward obeyed, sucking the juice from the oyster without taking his eyes away from the other man’s. Alfred sat back and watched him intently as he swallowed.

“Well?”

Edward felt both emotionally and physically overwhelmed, in the best way possible, and he struggled to form a coherent answer.

“I think….we certainly are eating like princes tonight, Alfred.”

Alfred grinned.

“Eating like princes tonight, swimming like princes yesterday.”

Edward grinned too, remembering the absurd events that had led to….this.

“Yes, that was quite the remarkable experience.”

“Although rather cold," Alfred responded. “Almost as cold as you look right now, Edward.”

It was true that sacrificing his tailcoat as a picnic blanket was causing Edward to shiver more than a little in the cool night air.

“No, really, I’m fine," he protested - but before he knew it, he was being gently wrapped up next to Alfred, as the other man tried to envelop both of them in his own coat.

“We’ll share," Alfred murmured.

Edward would have at least tried to protest, but he found that his throat was too tight with emotion. He was nestled there, tucked in tightly next to Alfred’s body, and he had never felt warmer or safer.

The two men closed their eyes and sat there in peaceful silence, listening to the quiet sound of each other’s breathing.

This was their moment, Edward knew that. He only wished it could be their forever.

 

***

But time flew past, no matter how much you willed it to stay still. It seemed to Edward only a moment later that he and Alfred were juddering along back to London, crammed tightly into a carriage with the cantankerous Duchess of Buccleuch and her sweet but naive niece, Wilhelmina.

It was a very small carriage for four people and they were all crammed in together quite tightly. This presented quite a problem for Edward, who had somehow found himself jammed next to Alfred. He had already spent what felt like hours trying desperately not to reach out and stroke Alfred’s hand, though every inch of his body and mind seemed desperate to betray him in front of the Duchess and her niece. Alfred occasionally shot him a look warning him to be careful - but on the other hand, some of his glances failed to convey caution, but simply reflected his own longing back at him. _This is torture_ , Edward thought as he tried to force his hands to remain clasped in his own lap, attempting to distract himself by listening to the Duchess’s diatribe against the French and their evil ways.

“What about you, Drummond? What did you think?” Alfred’s tone was carefully indifferent, but his blue eyes gleamed teasingly at Edward.

 _Don’t tease him back_ , Edward thought to himself. _This is getting ridiculous._ But then Alfred smirked at him, and Edward’s caution seemed to vanish as he thought, _To hell with it_.

“I agree with the Duchess," he responded, trying and failing to keep the joy in his voice hidden. “The trip was stylish, but-" his dark gaze once more met Alfred’s blue - “not altogether respectable.”

He couldn’t help it. He grinned.


	2. Seeing the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward is back in London, but he can't seem to get Alfred and their time together in France out of his mind. He can't deny it to himself anymore and he's in too deep - but he is also due to marry Florence Kerr in only a few weeks. How to solve this mess?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see this as an extremely difficult point in Edward's life. He's never been in love before, and I think it's only after the trip to France that he is finally able to acknowledge to himself that he has fallen in love with a man, which of course was absolute taboo in the 1840s.  
> Alfred's had a few years to come to terms with his 'boy feels', but this is all coming at Edward in a bit of a rush - and a few weeks before his wedding is not the most ideal time for him to realise all this!  
> This is Edward 'Gay Disaster' Drummond, remember, so expect a lot of angst and overthinking!

It had now been almost a week since they had returned from the French court, and Edward’s wedding was fast approaching. However, ever since he had come back to London, Edward had been unable to deny to himself that he had a problem - and that problem's name was Lord Alfred Paget.

Perhaps once he had been able to persuade himself that he felt comfortable and peaceful around Alfred simply because they were such good friends - they understood each other. Certainly, it was true that he felt happier and more relaxed than he was with Alfred than he did with anybody else. However, if Alfred really was nothing more than his friend, then how could Edward explain the fact that every single time he closed his eyes, he pictured again the flash of Alfred’s smile, the gleam of his hair in the setting sun, and the deep, melodic sound of his laughter as they splashed each other in that French lake? Why was it that he remembered the soft, smooth brush of Alfred’s bare skin against his own so vividly, and longed to feel it again? Why was he grinning uncontrollably like an idiot, trying desperately to keep a straight face even while he was sitting right next to Robert Peel on the front bench in the House, whenever he thought back to the way Alfred had looked at him as they placed their hands together on that picnic basket, or the ridiculously endearing way Alfred had tumbled down into his lap, or the gentleness of his voice and the warmth of Alfred’s body next to his own as he had offered Edward his coat to share? No, Edward couldn’t deny it any longer, not even to himself, and he wasn’t stupid enough to try. What he felt for Alfred was intoxicating, it caused his whole being to tingle with excitement, and it clearly was far beyond simple friendship. What was more, the trip to France had made it hard to doubt that Alfred felt much the same about him. Whenever he thought this, he felt as giddy as a lovestruck teenager, and he was seized with an urge to laugh, to hum, to seize Alfred in his arms and spin him around.

It was somewhat alarming, feeling like this. He was used to thinking pragmatically, strategically, laying out all of his options before him and analysing what would bring him the greatest advantage in the long run. After all, he was the youngest secretary to a Prime Minister in many decades, and he was proud to think that hadn’t come about through sheer luck! But now, it seemed that his mind and his heart were spinning out of his control ever more rapidly, and the timing could not have been worse. He was due to be married in only a few short weeks, to the Marquess of Lothian’s daughter, Florence Kerr. He and Florence had known each other for years, in fact they had been childhood friends before Edward left for Eton and then Oxford. He had known for a few years that his father and Florence’s father had been working towards an engagement between the pair of them as a matter of common sense, long before he had proposed to her. They were close in age, they were already familiar with each other, and they got along well despite not being as close as they once were. As the daughter of a Marquess, Florence had the title and the aristocratic pedigree which the Drummonds were always keenly aware that they lacked. Meanwhile, Edward’s influential political position at such a young age meant that Florence would have a prestigious husband, and, although the Drummonds knew that they were sneered at behind their backs for being ‘new money’, they also knew that Florence’s family was desperately in need of more wealth to keep their centuries-old estates running - the Marquess and his father before him had gambled much of the family fortune away.

For all these reasons, Edward’s proposal and Florence’s subsequent acceptance had been almost like choreographed steps in a dance. He had never felt any physical desire for any woman, and it had never occurred to him that he should feel it for his fiance either. He was a respectable gentleman, and she a respectable lady - surely it would have been an insult to her to debase her with lustful thoughts before the wedding? It was perfectly natural, he had thought, to feel nothing but a mild fondness for a fiance before marriage - in fact, as so many loathed their intended spouses, he was lucky to feel so much as this. Consummation was only intended to happen after marriage, so of course it was understandable that no desire for physical or emotional intimacy would happen until after the wedding.

All of this had made perfect sense to him - that is, until Alfred Paget came into his world. Lust and desires for emotional intimacy had never made sense to him outside of marriage - so why on earth did he feel his belly flare with warmth and a current of desire climb up his spine, making him shiver, whenever Alfred so much as smiled at him? Not only were they neither engaged nor married, but there was, obviously, no chance that they ever would be. It was ridiculous to think of two men marrying each other, as he had always been taught that the purpose of marriage was to have children. Even lusting after another man, he knew, was wrong. It was against the Bible, it was against God - and what was more, it was dangerous. He had heard the whispers of how sodomites could be punished, in fact, he had been raised imagining sodomites as shadowy figures, dark and twisted creatures of the night. He had always been taught that they were unnatural, evil - the tales of men swinging from the gallows had been told to him as cautionary tales. Look what fate awaits these men, these men who disobey the Bible and spit in the face of God.

He could not comprehend how these dark stories of sin from his childhood could possibly be connected to his feelings for Alfred. How could these feelings of desire and emotional intimacy, which made him want to laugh out loud for sheer joy, be dirty, twisted, or sinful? How could it be evil or wrong to love?

 _Love??_ The word echoed through his head, reverberated through his entire body. How could one tiny word mean so much? Was it really love he was feeling for Alfred, he asked himself as he paced restlessly up and down his room. _Yes. That's exactly what it is,_  a small voice answered him. He sank down onto his bed, putting his hands over his face. He was shaking. His wedding was in a few weeks, but he was in love with the wrong person. He knew there was a long list of reasons why he and Florence had been matched by their parents. But when he had proposed to her, he had been like a man living in a dark cave, who had never seen the sun. He had not been in love then. But now, whenever he closed his eyes, whenever he dreamed, he could see nothing but Alfred Paget.

Surely, it was not fair to Florence to marry her when he felt this towards Alfred - it would be to live a lie. What’s more, he would be giving Alfred up, and he didn’t know if he could bear that. He screwed up his eyes, his hands still over his face, thinking hard. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t marry her. But neither could he marry Alfred, or even let it be suspected that he felt anything beyond friendship towards the man. Where to start, how to fix this mess he had found himself in?

His mind racing a million miles a second, Edward stumbled over to his writing desk, took out a fresh piece of parchment, dipped a quill in the inkpot, and began frantically scribbling out a message.

_My dear Father,_

_Sir. I hope this letter finds you in good health. I do not wish to alarm you unnecessarily, but I find that I have a matter of some urgency to discuss with you, regarding my upcoming nuptials with the Honourable Lady Florence. May I call on you at home to speak in private? It is a somewhat sensitive matter. Please let me know by return letter what your earliest convenience is._

_Your loving and dutiful son,_

_Edward Drummond_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How will Charles Drummond react to this urgent but vaguely worded message from his son? 
> 
> Comments give me life <3 <3


	3. Something Broken Between Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward is desperate to escape this engagement - but he has some very difficult conversations to get through before that can happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while - be warned that this is a pretty long chapter, as there is a lot for Edward to get through!
> 
> Also, warning for a lot of angst ahead!

Alone in his parents’ large, tastefully yet expensively decorated drawing room, Edward paced up and down restlessly, glancing at the handsome oaken grandfather clock every few seconds as his heart thudded painfully against his ribs.

 

He knew his father would be arriving shortly. Charles Drummond had promptly sent a reply to Edward’s note, indicating that he was curious to hear what it was that could be so urgent. He had told Edward to wait for him in the privacy of their family home, warning him that he might be a little late due to a meeting at the bank. 

His parents’ butler, Sternwell, had evidently been told to expect him. Showing him graciously into the drawing room and pouring him a glass of his father’s finest port wine, Sternwell had invited him to seat himself on the cushioned couch, and peruse any of the books his father had left on the side table at his leisure.

The old retainer had left him to it soon afterwards, remembering well Edward’s introverted nature.

Edward, however, soon found that, at this moment, he could no more sit down and quietly read than he could fly out of the window into the clear blue sky beyond. He had taken barely a sip of the port wine, as his hands were shaking so badly he could scarcely hold the crystal glass steady, and he had soon given up and placed it down on the sideboard.

He knew he had no choice but to speak to his father if he wanted to discreetly disentangle himself from this engagement - but how he was going to do it, or what exactly he was going to say, was another matter.

This was a match that Charles Drummond and the Marquess of Lothian had been planning together for years, and Edward knew his father was immensely pleased with his own hand in arranging an agreement that was so mutually beneficial to the two families.

Both of his parents had always been proud of him in everything he did - Charles had even boasted to his friends, upon Edward gaining his position as Peel’s secretary, that his son would soon become the youngest Prime Minister Britain had ever seen.

Edward was not accustomed to disappointing his mother and father at all - but a broken engagement, he thought to himself, glancing fearfully between the clock and the door, an engagement which had already been publicly announced in the papers, moreover, was hardly going to be a small blemish on an otherwise spotless record.

He wasn’t stupid - he knew this could be immensely awkward for both families, he knew he was running the risk of being shunned by the upper echelons of society, of being surrounded by gossip and rumours for many months.

He swallowed as his head pounded. Getting his father’s help breaking off the engagement wasn’t even the most pressing issue here.

What on earth was he going to say? What reason could he possibly give to his parents that would cause them to see this brewing scandal as justified? Surely, if he told them he was in love, they would immediately ask what the lady’s estate was, if she was richer or more respectable than his current fiance in any way that justified throwing her over? What was he to respond? No, _she_ is not richer, _she_ is not more respectable - in fact, as the _son_ of the Marquess of Anglesey, _he_ occupies exactly the same position in society as Florence. Yes, Father, the person I have fallen utterly in love with is my best friend, and a man.

His parents had always loved and supported him in the past, but he really wasn’t sure their support would stretch _that_ far. He had always imagined he would fall in love at some point, but never in a million years would he have guessed he’d fall in love with another man - and he didn’t know if he could bear to see disappointment, or worse, fear or disgust, in his parents’ faces when they looked at him. What if they believed their own son had turned into one of the twisted monsters they had warned him against?

He needed to talk, but with his mind racing a million miles a second, he still had no idea what to say - and the relentless ticking of the grandfather clock seemed to mock him, ticking away all the moments of peace and safety he had left with his parents.

The door at the far end of the drawing room opened suddenly, and Edward, his heart jumping into his throat, turned towards it so hastily that he nearly sent the glass of port on the sideboard flying with his coat. The butler, Sternwell, was bowing, one hand still on the doorknob, as he ushered the silver-haired and lean Charles Drummond over the threshold.

Edward swallowed hard, cursing himself for feeling so ridiculously alarmed by his father’s entrance when it was precisely what he had been waiting and mentally preparing himself for over the last twenty minutes.

He bowed his head, much more formally than he would usually have done, hoping to hide the pure panic in his eyes. 

“Good afternoon, Father. I trust the meeting was a success?”, he asked, desperately focusing on trying to keep his voice steady. 

Charles strode over to his son and clapped him jovially on the back. “Yes indeed, Edward, far less tedious than I had feared it would be!” he responded.

“Although, as I’m sure you know, that meeting was not the one which most concerned me today.”

Edward tried to grin at his father, wanting to keep him in a good humour, but his face seemed to have frozen. 

“God’s blood, lad, you’re as pale as a sheet! I don’t know what can possibly be so urgent, but it can’t be all that bad! At least sit down, for Christ’s sake!” 

He obeyed instantly, wanting to antagonise Charles as little as possible. 

“Now, Sternwell can get you a drink - ah, I see you already have one there, untouched. Drink up, Edward, a little tipple never hurt anybody! Yes, Sternwell, that’s the ticket," he said as the butler poured him his own glass of port.

“Want a cheroot to go with that port, Edward my boy?” his father asked.

Thinking of Alfred and the way his sapphire blue eyes smirked at him through spiralling, scented smoke, Edward shivered slightly and shook his head vehemently - he couldn’t afford to daydream, he needed to focus.

Charles shrugged and took a cheroot for himself from the box Sternwell proffered.

As Sternwell lit his father’s cheroot, and Charles inhaled deeply, Edward struggled desperately to marshal his thoughts, to figure out what he should open with. 

Looking relaxed but curious, Charles turned his gaze back to his son as he puffed on the cheroot. 

“Now. Edward. You and I both know that requesting an urgent meeting like this, in such a hurried way, is not your general way of conducting yourself.”

Reaching a hand into the pocket of his velvet tailcoat, Charles drew out the note which Edward had written the previous night.

“According to the letter you sent me, you have a matter of ‘some urgency’, regarding your ‘upcoming nuptials.’ Now, I confess myself most intrigued, Edward. What matter regarding your wedding could be so urgent? You haven’t suddenly become alarmed at the thought of staying faithful to only one woman forever, have you? Because I can let you in on a little secret, my boy - you need only wait until you have done your duty and Florence is with child, and then you may find that you can venture off and….explore, shall we say, with other women who are less reputable. If you took a nighttime stroll down to Granby Street, you might find it most enlightening, I’d wager!”

As Charles grinned and took another sip of port, Edward flinched. He did not particularly want to speak with his father about the half-naked women of the night who infamously populated Granby Street, and he _really_ didn’t want to speak about what making a child with Florence would entail. But still, he couldn’t seem to find the words for what he _did_ want to speak about.

Charles laughed at the intensely uncomfortable look on Edward’s face.

“Not lusting after other women already, then? I should have known - you’ve always been too noble for your own good, my boy.” He cocked his head, studying Edward and frowning slightly now. “She didn’t….she never….my dear boy, you have not found out that _Florence_ has been unchaste? Unfaithful to you? Is she no longer a virgin?” 

His father’s face was beginning to go purple with rage now.

“Edward, if that girl is no longer pure, and her father the Marquess has been playing us false, then I swear by all that is holy that I shall have him up in court for deceit, and his milksop strumpet of a daughter with him, and be damned to his rank!” 

“No, Father!” Edward finally spoke up, horrified at the train of his father’s thoughts.

“I swear, I have found out nothing of the kind about Florence, nor do I suspect it! She is an honest, virtuous woman!”

He watched as Charles’ face returned to its normal colour, feeling a wave of pity for Florence as he realised just how quickly men could shame her to nothing. He swore to himself that he would never knowingly treat Florence so harshly, and then promptly felt another wave of guilt for the disgrace he seemed doomed to bring on her anyway. 

“Well, then, my boy," said Charles, finally breaking the silence. “If it’s true what you tell me, and your fiance truly is an honest, virtuous woman - why should you not marry her? Where is the obstacle, pray tell? Why in God’s name have you come to me today?”

As his father narrowed his cold grey eyes at him suspiciously - so different from the warm brown eyes which Edward had inherited from his mother Frances - Edward opened his mouth, but no words came out. Charles glared at him, raising one eyebrow impatiently. Strange, Edward thought to himself, the violent pounding of his heart deafening in his own ears, how moments ago his mind had been teeming with thoughts, all jostling with each other, yet now it came time to explain himself, his mind seemed completely blank. He couldn’t think how to form a coherent sentence - meanwhile, the ticking of the grandfather clock seemed to have become obnoxiously loud in the otherwise silent room, and his father’s scowl was becoming ever more pronounced.

“Oh, for God’s sake, just spit it out, boy, won’t you!” Charles snapped at him. 

He flinched again, feeling more panicked and less in control of the situation than he ever had in his life.

“Begging your pardon, sir. Florence has neither done or said anything I can find fault with - she has many virtues, indeed - but nevertheless, I cannot marry her”.

He found himself mumbling, which was most unlike him, staring down at his lap to avoid meeting his father’s eyes.

He did not need to look at Charles to know how quickly his fury was building - it was all too clear in his father’s voice when he spoke.

“You are being ridiculous, Edward. You have yet to give me a single good reason _why_ you cannot marry her. I am sure every young man feels some apprehension in the weeks and days leading up to his wedding; that is natural. Women can be tiresome to live with, after all. But that is no reason for you to start writing me letters about ‘matters of some urgency’, pulling me in here to coddle you and reassure you like a child when I have a mountain of work to do, as you know. And it is _certainly_ not a good enough reason for you to consider calling off your marriage! Really, my son, I cannot think what has gotten into you. You have always made me proud before today - I expected a great deal better from you. I thought we were in agreement, us two and the Marquess of Lothian. I thought you knew your duty, Edward.”

Edward stared at the ground, his hands starting to shake again, blinking back tears at the cold anger in his father’s voice, which he had never heard directed at him in such a way before. He wasn’t explaining this right, he knew - but the more impatient and aggressive Charles got, the more difficult it was to think clearly. 

“Sir, I do not think you are fully understanding me," he tried, his voice very obviously shaking now, “which I’m sure is due more to my being incompetent and inarticulate, than to any obtuseness on your part. Florence is charming and virtuous, and I’m sure she will make a wonderful wife. But not for me. We are ill-suited.” 

Charles laughed incredulously, clearly without any real amusement. “Ill-suited! The Marquess and myself could scarcely have found you a wife who was better suited to you and your position in life, as you very well know! You and I have earned our way into everything we now have, we cannot demand that the finest luxuries should simply fall into our laps! You’re damned lucky I managed to secure you the daughter of a Marquess! Or is Mr Edward Drummond too good for a mere Marquess’s daughter, now that he is Sir Robert’s private secretary? Did you want me to find you a French princess? Should I form an engagement for you with one of Her Majesty’s royal babies in the cradle, and leave you to wait another fifteen years for her? Or of course, if you are too impatient to wait for that, why don’t I tell Prince Albert that he is not wanted here - then he can skulk off back to Germany, and you can wed the queen herself! Why not have her crown you king, while you’re at it! Will you be satisfied with nothing less than that, boy?!”

His father’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, and Edward felt a hot flush of humiliation and anger start to creep over his face, as the pounding in his chest was joined by a dull throbbing in his head. He struggled to keep his voice steady as he responded. 

“That is not the issue at all, Father. Please do not do me the dishonour of assuming me to be so ungrateful and churlish.”

“Do _you_ the dishonour?!” Charles was close to shrieking in indignation now. “Edward, have you even told your fiance that you are planning this utter folly, begging me to release you from your contract?! Have you spoken to the Marquess?”

He swallowed, feeling a wave of guilt wash over him again.

“No, I….I do not yet have a clear mind, I am not sure how I should do this. That’s why I came to you, Father, I wanted your advice. I have no desire to hurt or embarrass Florence, and I certainly wish to remain amicable with the Marquess -”

His father brought his fist down hard on the table, making a loud crash and causing Edward to jump. 

“ _Damn it_ , Edward! I cannot believe it has taken me so many years to realise what a fool you are. This is not just a casual dinner arrangement you can politely duck out of when you don’t feel in the mood for company, boy! This is a legally binding contract, which I have drawn up with an immensely powerful and influential man. What part of this do you not understand, boy? If you so much as hint to the Marquess that you were thinking, even momentarily, of abandoning the contract, then he will sue. He will sue you for everything you own. He will bring scandal down on your head, the papers of London will print stories about Peel’s deceitful young secretary who cruelly abandoned his bride, leaving her open to degradation and sneers as a woman jilted. You will not long keep your job - Peel will hardly think it worthwhile to keep a man who is followed everywhere by such a stench of scandal and gossip, and there must be a hundred men jostling for your position who are just as intelligent, talented, and hardworking, and who _haven’t_ broken contracts with Marquesses!” 

Edward was breathing fast and hard, grasping the arm of the couch to keep himself steady. He didn’t want to hear this - but how could he deny the truth of his father’s words? He knew perfectly well he hadn’t fully explained his reasons for wanting to break the engagement; and looking at his father’s face, incandescent with rage, his hands balled into fists as if he was barely restraining himself from striking his son, he felt certain that he could not tell him anything about Alfred now.

Charles paused, breathing hard too. He seemed to consciously calm himself, uncurling his fists, looking at Edward and speaking in a tone of forced calm. 

“The plain fact of the matter, Edward, is that if you attempt to break this engagement, you will destroy yourself, and you will destroy me in turn. You will ruin everything I have worked for since you were born. To put it simply, I will not allow it. The answer is no. You may not break off this engagement.” 

A shiver ran down Edward’s spine at the cold finality in his father’s voice. He looked at Charles, searching his face desperately for some hint of pity, of affection for his son. But he could find nothing - Charles Drummond’s face was set, his jaw tense, his grey eyes as hard as flint.

Edward tried to swallow past the massive lump that seemed to have wedged in his throat, and felt hot tears burning in his eyes. He tried to blink them away, knowing full well that weeping would only provoke more frustration in his father, accusations that Edward was scared of being married because he wasn’t enough of a man to please Florence. 

Surely, this couldn’t be it, he thought frantically. Surely, there was something else he could say, his father hadn’t just silenced him on this topic forever?

“Papa," he croaked hoarsely, reverting, for the first time in years, to the word he had used in his early boyhood. He was past dignity now - he was begging, and he knew it.

“Papa, please. _Please_ . I don’t love her. I _can’t_ love her.”  

Charles laughed, looking at Edward as though this was his most pathetic excuse yet. “To be honest, Edward, I don’t much care if you pine heart and soul for every woman in London other than Florence. I told you before, you can take a visit to Granby Street whenever it strikes your fancy, that is your prerogative as a man. Or, if that is too vulgar for your delicate sensibilities, you can pour your heart out by writing poems about unrequited love, for all I care. You have told me yourself that Florence is an ‘honest, virtuous woman’, and could think of no valid complaint against her - clearly, you are tolerably fond of her, so I see no obstacle. Frankly, I wouldn’t consider it an obstacle even if you disliked her, even if you loathed her. Plenty of husbands and wives detest each other, they just learn to stay out of each other’s way once they have fulfilled their duties.”

Edward nodded once, vaguely noticing that his heart had stopped desperately thumping. His chest felt curiously hollow now.

“I assume I have made myself clear?” 

He met his father’s gaze for a second, seeing no love, no warmth, no pride there. He knew that something had broken between the two of them. He inclined his head slightly. 

“Perfectly clear. Sir.” 

“Good. Now, I am an extremely busy man, as you know, so if there was nothing else….?”

“No, sir,” he answered, his own voice almost as cold as his father’s. “I have nothing left to say.” 

“Well then, if that is the case, may I please request, first, that I never hear a word of this nonsense from your lips ever again, and second, that you kindly remove yourself from my drawing room. Sternwell will show you out. I shall see you at church in a few weeks, Edward.”

Somewhat taken aback by this abrupt dismissal, Edward nodded, bowed swiftly to Charles - feeling a roiling sense of self-disgust in his stomach as he did so - and walked swiftly from the drawing room, almost running. He didn’t even wait for Sternwell to escort him out, but wrenched the front door open himself, not caring that it slammed loudly shut behind him. All he knew was that he needed to get out of there before his father noticed the tear tracks on his face.

Strange, Edward thought to himself, that it was so calm and peaceful out here in his parents’ garden, with the afternoon sun bathing him in its rays, and yet he still felt cold, clammy and empty. 

His father was right, he realised, absentmindedly reaching up to wipe the tears from his face with his sleeve. He had been a complete and utter fool. So what if he thought himself ‘in love’ with Alfred, whatever that meant? So what if he had been happier in France with Alfred than he could ever remember being in his life?

He had always known that to be a successful politician, he would need a wife - and he should be counting himself lucky that the woman chosen as his ideal match happened to be his childhood friend, who he was still fond of, though he did not know her nearly so well these days. The contract had already been drawn up and signed, as Charles had so sharply reminded him. His father’s tirade had shown him, once and for all, that he could not release himself from the contract without drawing scandal and ruin down on his own head, and on Florence’s, who had done nothing to deserve it.

Besides, it was absolutely ridiculous of him to entertain any notion that he and Alfred would be allowed to love each other, as men and women were expected to love each other. What on earth had he expected, Charles’s blessing and permission to abandon a wife in Florence and seek out a husband in Alfred? It was impossible!

True, he had fallen in love with Alfred Paget - but, as his father had said, marriage was rarely anything to do with love. It seemed that he was not to be one of those lucky few, like the Queen, who happened to love where it was most convenient.

Perhaps he would continue to wish for the soft brush of Alfred’s skin against his, to fantasise about his gentle sapphire-blue gaze, for the rest of his days, every morning as he woke up next to Florence - but, as Charles Drummond would say, nobody can build a life for themselves from wishes and fantasy.

He had never realised that the word ‘heartache’ was quite so literal; a dull, throbbing pain in his chest. He wondered vaguely if the sensation would stay with him for so long that he eventually failed to notice it. Maybe it would just become as much a part of him as his arms, his legs. 

His last words to his father had been perfectly true - he had nothing left to say. All that was left for him now was to continue working diligently for Peel, and to prepare himself for the wedding.

He would manage. Somehow, he could get through this. Just so long as he did not have to face Alfred.

****

The thought of his wedding looming on the horizon filled Edward with a sense of dread. He was trying to resign himself to it, trying to find the positives in his situation - but whenever he thought how he would have to lie to Florence, to lie to the world and keep his true self hidden, he had to grit his teeth against the pain, the loneliness, the guilt. Now that Alfred had found his way into Edward’s life, it seemed he could not escape him, even when he was deliberately avoiding the Palace and any other place that he might run into the man he loved. He still saw Alfred’s face every time he closed his eyes, whenever he heard something that fascinated or amused him he would think about how he would recount the story to Alfred later, and look forward to seeing the joy on the other man’s face, before abruptly remembering that he had promised himself he would stay out of Alfred Paget’s way.

It was as though suddenly, for him alone, most of the world existed in dreary greys, except for Alfred, who brought with him warm, bright and vibrant colour. He didn’t understand how he had ever believed himself to be truly happy before he had met Alfred.

Although Edward was aware that many men found Florence beautiful, the thought of trying to kiss her, stroke her and make love with her terrified him. He was fully aware that he couldn’t break Alfred’s hold on him, try as he might, and because of this, the idea of physical intimacy with Florence felt deceitful and unclean - it would betray and hurt both Florence, the friend he cared for, and Alfred, the man he loved.

Since the day he had visited his father, he had been drinking whisky and scotch, and smoking cigars, much more than he would have normally, much more than was good for him. It seemed to dull the pain, a little.

Some days, he felt like railing against his father, against Florence’s father, against society, against God Himself - all of them were keeping him trapped. On other days, he was filled with bitter self-loathing, which lodged in his throat, nearly choking him. Why, _why_ , couldn’t he just be like other men? What was _wrong_ with him?

****

Perhaps, he thought, throwing himself into his work would be a somewhat healthier coping mechanism than whisky, scotch and cigars. It suited him to keep his mind occupied with paperwork, policies and passing new laws as much as possible. And, as Sir Robert was currently facing demands from all different directions to resolve the ‘Irish Question’, and needed all the assistance he could get, it seemed it was good timing for Edward to begin working more fiercely and diligently than he ever had done before.

News had been pouring in from Dublin, horrifying stories about people starving in the streets as the potato crops that they relied upon so much were blighted by famine and bad harvest. Peel was more stressed and harried than Edward had ever seen him, as his government came under mounting criticism from the public for failing to give the Irish the support they needed.

Edward knew Peel’s priority was to get the old Corn Laws repealed; established over thirty years ago, before Edward himself was even alive, they were designed to put heavy restrictions on imported food and grain, and they made trading food with other countries absurdly expensive and impractical.

Peel had been in contact with a Mr Cobden of the Anti-Corn Law League, and he had been convinced that the ridiculous restrictions imposed by the Corn Laws were only causing to worsen the terrible situation in Dublin. If not for the Corn Laws, he had explained to Edward, the Irish could have had access to a stock of foreign grain, rather than having to rely so heavily on their own potato crop and starving in their thousands when the crop failed.

Edward knew his employer was an intensely moral man, driven by his conscience - he could see that Peel’s failure to repeal the Corn Laws was eating away at him, making him feel personal guilt every time more heartbreaking news came in from Ireland. Edward agreed wholeheartedly with the older man that repeal would be the best way to help the Irish in their time of need - unfortunately, Peel was struggling against the majority of his own Tory party, who seemed far more concerned with protecting their own vested interests than with the plight of the Irish reduced to scrabbling in the gutter and begging in the streets.

There were times when Edward looked around at all these rich, privileged, stubbornly oblivious old men and wondered how he had been so naive as to think that he could ever make any positive changes by becoming a politician. At times like these, he reminded himself how lucky he was to have a job as Sir Robert Peel’s secretary. Peel was unfailingly decent and hardworking, stubborn in pursuing the right course, and unlike his predecessor Lord Melbourne, he never remained vague on any issues or masked his true feelings for fear of making himself unpopular, even when his own party grumbled against him. Peel inspired him constantly. 

It was not a particularly cheerful or relaxing atmosphere at work, to say the least, what with Peel being tormented by guilt at his failures, and Edward desperately trying to ignore his heartbreak and his fear about the wedding. Nevertheless, he was extremely glad to have something meaningful to keep his mind occupied, and he was happy to assist Peel with whatever he asked, if that would reduce the older man’s stress levels.

At least, Edward was happy to do whatever Peel required of him, until he was asked to deliver some policy papers to the Palace. 

“Just take these over for Her Majesty to sign, will you, Drummond, there’s a good lad," Peel asked absentmindedly one evening, about two weeks after Edward’s confrontation with his father, barely looking up from the mountain of other papers on his desk as he scribbled furiously.

Edward had been waiting patiently with quill and ink, ready to write down whatever Peel dictated to him and deliver it to another member of the House - but, upon processing what Sir Robert had just requested, his brain seemed to freeze in panic.

“My apologies, Sir, I didn’t quite catch - I’m afraid I must have dozed off-"

Peel chuckled slightly, though not unkindly. “Hardly surprising that you would be exhausted by now, Drummond, with the number of hours you’ve spent slaving away at this wretched Corn Law business with me. You really can’t imagine how grateful I am to you! I just need you to do me one last favour for the day, and take these papers over to Buckingham Palace so that the Queen can sign them. Then you should go home and take a well-deserved rest. You’re looking pale and strained, lad - I don’t want to have to face your mother and tell her that I worked you into an early grave only a few weeks before your wedding!”

His brain still whirring in panic at Peel’s words, Edward continued to stare at him stupidly, feeling very slow. “Buckingham Palace, Sir?” 

Having bent down over his papers again, Peel looked up at Edward and frowned slightly. “Yes, Buckingham Palace. Why, is there a problem with that, Drummond?”

Edward groaned inwardly. He had not come face to face with Alfred since they had returned from that wonderful time in France. That time seemed to belong to a very distant past now, when Edward had been hopeful, naive and foolish. He now knew that he could be allowed no happiness with Alfred - so what good would it do either of them to torture themselves by spending time together? The joy, laughter and peace which Alfred brought him would only be snatched away anyway.

It was almost a certainty that he would meet Alfred if he delivered those papers to the Palace; he was nearly always with Her Majesty. If he was being perfectly honest, it had been for that precise reason that he had always been so eager to act as Sir Robert’s messenger. Peel had been a little bewildered at first by Edward’s frequently volunteering himself, as there were many men of lower political standing in the House who were more suited to such tasks; however, he seemed to have put it down to Edward’s diligence and youthful desire to prove himself. At this point, it was simply something Peel expected of him.

As Peel slowly raised his eyebrows at him, clearly wondering why he was behaving so strangely this evening, Edward realised that he had no valid excuse for begging leave not to take the papers - his past eagerness would make reluctance now seem all the more suspicious. He was also painfully aware of the fact that he had not said anything at all to Alfred since they had returned from France, despite the new level of mutual understanding they had seemed to reach there. It was too painful; he wouldn’t know where to begin. And he was ashamed.

 But Peel was starting to look somewhat impatient now, still holding out the papers for him expectantly.

He tried not to sigh, and took them. “No, of course not, Sir. No problem at all.”

He bowed slightly, then turned on his heel and left the office, starting to breathe faster, and wondering when and how he had managed to turn his life into such a mess. This was all his own fault, really. Why did he have to get so transparently excited every time, just because he was delivering some damned papers to the Palace where a certain Lord happened to live?

****

He made his way quickly down the familiar corridors of the Palace, barely noticing the grandiose crimson and gold surroundings. His only job was to make sure these papers were delivered to Her Majesty; once he had done that, he could leave quickly, and with any luck, he would be able to avoid running into -

“Ah, Drummond! I didn’t know you were at the Palace!” 

He sighed. He would recognise that warm, deep voice anywhere,  tinged as it was with happiness and affection.

He looked up to see Alfred coming down the staircase towards him, his face alight with pleasure, and something else - relief?

Part of Edward’s mind told him to bolt - but as the other man came closer to him, his sapphire eyes roaming Edward’s face, he suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of peace and happiness. He had been so on edge since the conversation with his father, so tense about his marriage and about the Corn Laws and about _everything_ , he had almost forgotten how it felt to be relaxed and happy. It was almost like being back in France again.

How did Alfred _do_ that? How did he manage to make Edward feel so safe and warm just by smiling at him? He had meant to come in and out without even seeing this man, yet now he found himself smiling back at him, his eyes hungrily roving over his face as though committing it to memory. 

“I had some papers for Her Majesty," he said , gesturing vaguely to the folder he was holding to account for his presence. Alfred merely nodded, without taking his eyes away from Edward. The look in his beautiful eyes said plainly that the reason for Edward’s visit was of little consequence - it was enough that he had come. 

No more words came to Edward; his brain seemed to be completely empty of anything except Alfred, his closeness and his intoxicating scent. They stood there, staring at each other - Edward couldn’t have said whether seconds passed, or hours. There had been so much left unsaid between them, since that wonderful time in France when Edward had almost convinced himself that the world would be kind to them. He could see his own love and desire reflected back at him, but there was something else in Alfred’s clear blue gaze - a question. Pain.

 Edward stepped back, forcing himself to wrench his eyes away from Alfred’s, feeling a twisting physical pain in his chest as he did so. Alfred clearly understood that he, Edward, had been avoiding him. But he could not know why - and Edward did not think he could bear to explain his meeting with his father, he couldn’t bear to torment them both _more_ by explaining that he had tried to find a way out, and failed.

 He couldn’t do this. He needed to leave.

“I should go," he mumbled, trying desperately to sound distant and formal. “There’s a debate on the Irish question.” He winced slightly, ashamed of his own cowardice and his poor excuses.

Alfred nodded tightly, seemingly trying to keep his emotions under control. “Yes, the Queen talks of little else," he responded.

Edward’s frustration reached a boiling point. Everything that was making him feel simultaneously powerless and furious seemed to bubble to the surface; his father’s anger and spite, the engagement which he felt forced into with no means of escape, the feelings of helplessness as he watched the man he admired being stymied and condemned by his own party, and most of all the anger and sadness he felt at being forced to stay away with Alfred.

And now, on top of everything, Alfred was implying the Queen believed she knew better than Peel how to deal with the Irish Question!  It was ridiculous, he had seen for himself how tirelessly the man was working to repeal the Corn Laws. Victoria seemed to make a habit of undermining Peel at every opportunity, even when she didn’t have the necessary knowledge about an issue and the Prime Minister did!

“The Prime Minister’s doing his best," he insisted, his voice sounding more peeved than he had intended. “He can’t change his policy just because the Queen has read some letters in _The Times_!” 

Alfred raised his eyebrows at him, frowning. 

“The Irish are starving," Alfred said, as he took a small step closer. Edward closed his eyes momentarily, trying to get his thoughts under control - Alfred was so close, he could feel the warmth radiating from the other man’s body. Alfred’s words did not do anything to lessen his anger, though - did he think Edward and Peel were both unaware of the Irish predicament? That they hadn’t spent sleepless nights struggling to find a way to help? Victoria made a great show of wanting to help the suffering Irish, but what had she actually done other than criticise Sir Robert? Why must Alfred always side with her?

“Then the Queen should reach into her own purse," Edward suggested irritably. He sighed. “Women are so damn emotional!”

He knew he was being melodramatic and ridiculous, and a little voice at the back of his brain immediately pointed out the irony of making such an accusation when he himself was currently making a huge scene about something which should only be mildly irritating, and when he had been walking around distracted and failing to function properly due to heartbreak. But at this point, he did not _care_ \- he was carrying a constant weight of fear, anxiety, loneliness and self-loathing around with him, and he just needed to shout and storm.

A flicker of pain passed across Alfred’s face - he flicked his gaze up Edward’s body to his face, locking eyes with him again. “Women like your fiance?”, he asked, a hitch in his voice, a challenge in his eyes.

Edward glared at him. Why would he, of all people, want to bring Florence up right now? He closed his eyes, fighting against the feelings of loneliness, pain and guilt which he was becoming so acquainted with. He _really_ didn’t need to be reminded about the wedding at the moment. 

He was tired of all this. So, so tired.

“She’s insisting on setting a date right in the middle of the session”, he muttered, feeling his anger spreading irrationally to include Florence, although he knew none of this was her fault.

Looking back at Alfred, he felt another stab of guilt, worse than any he had felt before. He was used to Alfred looking at him with a mischievous smirk, with warm affection lighting up his eyes. Never until this moment had he seen such naked and vulnerable hurt in Alfred’s gaze. He cursed himself. How could he have been so stupid as to try and vent about his wedding to _Alfred,_ of all people?

“Sorry," he muttered, feeling that the little word wasn’t enough to make up for his blunder. “You don’t want to hear about that, do you?” It was the closest either of them had ever come to acknowledging, out loud, exactly how painful Edward’s approaching wedding was for them both.

Alfred looked at the floor, and then raised his eyes to Edward’s again. Edward felt his heart thumping wildly - anybody who walked in on them now, even the oblivious Miss Coke, would surely know they were intruding on something deeply private and intimate, despite the fact that the two of them were not even touching. Never before had Alfred looked at him with such open and undisguised love, longing and regret.

Edward’s hands itched with the desire to throw his folder on the floor, to draw Alfred into his arms so they could each draw comfort from the other. He wanted to hold onto him, to stroke his face, to press kisses to his forehead and his lips and tell him that everything would be alright in the end.

But he couldn’t say that. It would _not_ be alright. He was getting married, and there was nothing he could do about it. It was hopeless. 

“I must go," he forced out, speaking through the lump in his throat, trying to force the tears back. 

“Goodbye, Alfred.” 

He hurried away, before he could lose his resolve, his chest feeling curiously hollow again, as though he had just left his heart behind with the man he had abandoned at the foot of the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the lightest and fluffiest of chapters, I know. But don't worry too much - next chapter, off to Scotland ;) 
> 
> So grateful to everybody who has left kudos and comments already, it really makes my day :) :) <3 <3 xxx


	4. Lost: One Queen, One Prince, Two Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scottish Adventures: Part 1....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the wait, everyone! I got swamped in assignments, and I also maaay have underestimated how long this would take to write.
> 
> As we know, there is a LOT of Drumfred stuff that happens in Scotland - plus, there was also Alfred's previously unseen P.O.V. to fit in here - so, I'm actually splitting the Scotland episode up over two chapters....
> 
> I promise, though, I have now finished assignments, so there will definitely be a shorter wait between Chapters 4 and 5 than there was between Chapters 3 and 4!
> 
> And if it's any consolation....buckle up, because this chapter is going to be a long one!
> 
> So now, without further ado, sit back and enjoy enormous amounts of both angst and fluff as our beautiful boys find themselves journeying to Blair Atholl, Scotland!

Usually, Lord Alfred Paget prided himself on being everything a courtier of Her Majesty should be; witty, charming, discreet, loyal, skilled in making others feel relaxed and at ease and, most importantly, always attentive to the Queen. Over the past few weeks, however, he had been slipping. The dry witticisms that he so revelled in and the subsequent laughter that followed had become rare - he didn’t feel much in the mood to amuse and entertain at the moment.

He was trying to focus, really he was, but his thoughts kept returning to that hopeless look of regret in Edward’s beautiful dark eyes, the strange edge in his voice when he had said those two simple, extraordinarily painful words - _Goodbye, Alfred_ \- as if he was trying to convince himself that he truly meant them. 

Part of him was furious at himself for being so foolish as to hope.

It wasn’t as though he’d never been attracted to a man before; he had known since his early teens, when he had first read _The Iliad_ , that the relationship between Achilles and Patroclus resonated with him, struck a chord, more than any of the countless stories of knights and princes pining for their fair ladies.

Yes, he had certainly been attracted to other men in the past - but it had never gone beyond that, physical attraction. He had never really allowed himself to hope or fantasise, which hadn’t been difficult as he’d never felt much of an emotional connection to any of those handsome but forgettable men.

But Edward Drummond….meeting Edward Drummond had changed everything.

Edward was beautiful, of course - those molten eyes, that adorably awkward smile, never failed to make his heart skip a beat. He had known from the first moment he saw this man that it was going to be difficult to keep a safe distance.

But it was more than just Edward’s looks. There was something in his deep, melodious and reassuring voice, something in his laughter, the way he ducked his head and blushed, the way he gazed at him so openly and adoringly. Edward Drummond always seemed so honest, gentle, thoughtful and kind, utterly without artifice.

His mere presence was enough to make Alfred feel safe and warm, completely accepted and understood. It was a little overwhelming to feel like that, when he was so used to the constant nagging awareness that he could never completely be himself, must never entirely let his guard down. Being with Edward made him feel excited and daring, yet somehow peaceful at the same time. Those gorgeous dark eyes seemed to reassure him, looking at him as if to say, _I’m here. Don’t worry if you fall - I’ll catch you._ As soon as Edward left the room, he felt as if he was once again playing a part, forced to wear a courtier’s mask. He wondered how he had lived like this before meeting the other man, and he had realised, gradually, that this must be what it felt like to fall in love.

When Edward had shamefacedly admitted his engagement to Lady Florence Kerr, Alfred had almost stumbled back from the pain - it was like a physical blow.

He had struggled desperately to keep his countenance, and had barely managed to force out a congratulation without his voice shaking before rushing off, head down so Edward would not see that his eyes were swimming in tears.

Cursing himself for an idiot, he had wondered how he had been stupid enough to ignore the obvious. Of course Edward would be engaged - as Peel’s young, intelligent and wealthy secretary, he was one of the most eligible matches in London.

How could he have possibly entertained the notion, Alfred had furiously asked himself, that Edward would ever be his? Having known where his tastes lay for so many years, remembering so clearly the terror he had felt as a teenager upon hearing stories of the sodomites publicly hanged for their sins - _surely_ he should know better than to let himself hope and fantasise?

He knew he had to leave Edward alone and, in a way, believing that the other man did not feel the same as he did made it easier. If Edward did not love him, Alfred would simply have to let time heal the wound, and move on.

But the court’s trip to France had turned everything around once more, making Alfred dizzy and delirious with happiness for a few shining days.

Alfred had been taken aback when, inspired by the Prince’s somewhat reckless example, Edward had turned to him, beaming, and asked _“Shall we?”_ , his velvety voice brimming with excitement.

Surely, Alfred had thought, staring back at him, Edward would not ask him that, would not have sounded so nervous and yet so joyful, if there was not _something_ between them, something more than simple gratitude for Alfred’s attentions. Something charged with meaning, something precious….

Once he was in the cold water with Edward, feeling the other man’s warm, soft skin against his own, laughing like reckless teenagers as they brushed against each other’s chests and shoulders, it was as though, for a shining moment, the two of them were alone in the world. Alfred could not remember ever feeling happier or more carefree.

Somehow, something had happened that he had never dared to imagine, and he scarcely dared believe it now.

He had fallen in love with a beautiful, intelligent, kind and honest man, a _wonderful_ man - and it seemed somehow, for some reason, that this man loved him back.

Alfred had been _so_ sure that the two of them had finally reached some sort of mutual, unspoken understanding in France, and for days after they returned to London, he had waited on tenterhooks, feeling that something must happen, terrified to make any move that might make Edward feel pressured or overwhelmed.

Edward had certainly seemed to unlock a kind of reckless daring in himself while in France, but Alfred also knew instinctively how new all of this was to the other man.

He could sense how precious and fragile the situation was, and so, he waited, hoping each day for a letter to be delivered in Edward’s carefully crafted calligraphy - or better still, for Edward to arrive once again at the Palace, giving him one of those _looks_ from underneath his dark eyelashes as he gestured with his tinderbox towards the balcony, where they could speak away from prying eyes and ears.

But there was nothing. No word from Edward, no sign of him, for over a week.

By the time three days had gone by, Alfred was sorely tempted to go to the Houses of Parliament and simply sit down on a bench and wait until Edward came out. He _needed_ to speak to him, he couldn’t stand just sitting here and wondering….

But he was being absolutely ridiculous, he chastised himself. He knew he could not afford to make the other man feel pressured, or to put his reputation - or even worse, his safety - at risk. The move was Edward’s to make, not his, he reminded himself firmly.

And so he tried his best to distract himself, and find explanations for Edward’s sudden silence. With everything happening in Ireland, and the petty squabbling within the Tory party that Peel was struggling to control, Edward must have an enormous amount on his plate. Perhaps it was only Edward’s overwhelming workload which had kept him from visiting, kept him from writing. Yes, that would be it. Alfred clung to this theory; it hurt a lot less than the alternatives.

***

And then, finally, just when Alfred had stopped expecting him, Edward had appeared in the Palace corridor.

His heart doing somersaults at the familiar sight of Edward with his sheaf of papers, that sight he had missed so much, Alfred had felt a grin rise unbidden to his face for the first time in weeks.

At first, he had felt an overwhelming relief that Edward was there, not needing to make demands of him, but merely standing there drinking in the sight of him. There was hunger in Edward’s eyes as they had roved over his face, and something else too - regret. An apology.

Alfred knew him well enough to read how tense and strained Edward was, purely from the expression in his eyes, the clench of his jaw and the tightness in his shoulders - the way he snapped when Alfred mentioned the Queen’s concerns about the Irish only confirmed this.

 _“Women are so damn emotional!”_ Edward had exclaimed in irritation.

Alfred _knew_ Edward was only being ridiculous because he was so worried about Peel and the Irish Question, not to mention his engagement - but Edward’s anger seemed only to bring his own frustration and insecurities, which had been brewing over the last weeks, rising to the surface.

He was terrified that, despite all that had happened between them in France, every moment this beautiful man had spent away from him over the past weeks, giving him nothing but silence, was another moment spent in the company of his intended wife, Florence.

So Alfred had blurted out his response before he could stop himself.

_“Women like your fiance?”_

He had winced at the obvious bitterness in his own voice - yet he had been taken aback by the fact that the glare Edward had shot him in response was just as bitter.

Of course it was strange to see such anger in his face, when there was usually such warmth and affection there, but it wasn’t that which unnerved Alfred most.

 

He had expected Edward to look sheepish, apologetic perhaps - but Alfred’s comment about his fiance had given him a look of hopeless resentment.

He looked, Alfred thought, like a man trapped in a cell, who had struggled to find an exit, and, being unable to find one, had given up.

Edward had muttered something angrily about the wedding date his fiance was insisting on - then, noticing Alfred’s eyes widening in horror, he had looked down shamefacedly, mumbling an apology. _“You don’t want to hear about that, do you?”_

 

Hearing about Edward’s wedding plans from his own lips was painful beyond measure, of course, but it wasn’t that which hurt the most.

Edward was clearly pushing him away - but, more than that, he could see in Edward’s eyes that he was hurting. He was trapped somehow, distancing himself not because he wanted to but because he had to.

Alfred knew also from the look in Edward’s eyes that he had already resigned himself. The courage, determination and self-sacrificing nobility that Alfred loved him for so much meant that Edward would not accept help even if Alfred were to offer it.

They had simply stood there, eyes tracing over each other’s faces as though each was trying to memorise the other. Alfred couldn’t have said how long they stared, the love in Edward’s intelligent dark eyes mingled with pain and regret.

If Edward had made his decision, then they had reached an impasse, and had nothing left to say. The only reason Alfred was still standing there was because it was too painful to turn away.

Finally, Edward had wrenched his eyes away, and murmured those two exquisitely painful words.

 _“Goodbye, Alfred_.”

As the other man turned away, Alfred felt a twang of agony as sharp as if someone had physically ripped a piece of his skin off. It was all he could do not to gasp out loud.

And just like that, Edward was gone.

***

What with his fury at his own vulnerability, and the image of Edward’s hopeless expression as he had walked away having seemingly imprinted itself on his eyelids, Alfred was finding it immensely difficult to carry out his usual duties as Her Majesty’s Equerry.

Constantly distracted, he was becoming rather slow on the uptake whenever the Queen addressed him. As he usually had an uncanny knack of being at Victoria’s side, ready to either listen or give his advice before she had even had to call his name, it seemed that she had noticed the change; and, judging by how peeved her voice currently sounded, he could hazard a guess that she was not best pleased with him.

“Really, Lord Alfred, I’m not even sure you’ve heard a word I’ve said in the last fifteen minutes! I really couldn’t say what’s come over you!”

He gave a start, meeting her gaze guiltily.

“My apologies, ma’am….I must confess I did not get a great deal of sleep last night….”

He winced slightly at the expression of irritated impatience on her face; he was more used to seeing fond amusement there.

He really did have a great deal of respect for this young woman, who had such a burden on her shoulders. He had been there to support her ever since she had arrived at Buckingham Palace as a headstrong yet clearly terrified eighteen-year-old-girl, surrounded by cynical and scheming men who were convinced they could become the power behind the throne if they only intimidated her enough.

If not for the divide that had to exist between subject and monarch, Alfred might even have called the Queen one of his closest friends.

He truly didn’t want to disappoint or annoy her.

It seemed Victoria understood the sincerity of his apology, for her face softened somewhat. “I was just saying, Lord Alfred, that we are to be going on a trip to the beautiful Scottish Highlands! The Duke of Atholl has agreed to accommodate us at his home in Perthshire, Blair Castle. We shall be leaving in only a few days!”

Alfred was trying to keep up with her and process this news, but it was so difficult to reconcile Victoria’s vivacious excitement with the melancholy turmoil of his own thoughts that he feared he was just staring at the queen blankly.

“The Scottish Highlands, ma’am?”

She tutted in annoyance at him again.

“Yes, Lord Alfred, the Scottish Highlands. I must say, I had thought to lift your spirits a little with the news - don’t think I haven’t noticed this sudden gloom of yours, though I could not say where it has sprung from! But judging from the fact that you barely seemed to hear me, but continued with this new habit of staring glumly into the distance, am I to assume that my ingenious plan to cheer you up has failed?”

Alfred groaned internally; he hadn’t realised he had been quite so obvious.

Now that he thought about it, though, a trip to Scotland might actually do him good, although he couldn’t manage to get quite as excited as Victoria obviously was. Fresh air, beautiful countryside and the opportunity to go riding properly as he hadn’t had the chance to since he last went home to Plas Newydd. A change of scenery might even help to take his mind off of….everything. Perhaps being in an unfamiliar location would finally force him to stop looking for a tall figure with smiling dark eyes every single time he walked down that corridor or passed ‘their’ balcony.

He managed a small smile.

‘Indeed, ma’am, an adventure to the Scottish Highlands does sound delightful. And I have been in an unusually....philosophical mood, lately. I sincerely hope I have not infected you too much with my gloom," he finished somewhat sheepishly. 

But Victoria seemed so excited that she barely even acknowledged his awkward apology, waving it away impatiently.

“I have been feeling so _stifled_ here in London these past few weeks, and now to think that I have the liberty of exploring the Highlands! Do you know, Lord Alfred, when I was a girl I used to sit cooped up in my room at Kensington, reading the beautiful novels and poems of Sir Walter Scott, just dreaming that one day I might be able to explore the gorgeous landscapes that he wrote of with such love and passion. Oh, how romantic it all seemed to me!” 

Alfred smiled slightly, despite himself; it was rare to see the young queen looking so giddy and carefree.

“But of course, Mama and _that man_ kept me always locked away in Kensington like a doll in a box, with no company except for darling Dash and my novels, so there was no chance at all of visiting the places I so longed to see. And now, to think, I am finally to see the landscapes I have dreamed of for so long, and there is nobody to stop me from going where I desire, with whoever I desire!” 

She walked towards him, beaming brightly, her hand outstretched, and he took it and bowed over it, humbled that she valued him enough to want his company specifically on this adventure she had dreamed of for so long.

“It will be so wonderful, Lord Alfred, that I’m sure I cannot abide any melancholy leaching the joy out of the experience! Now I come to think of it, I am sure Sir Robert will want to keep an eye on me while I’m away; most likely he will send Mr Drummond to join us and report back to him. Surely that will succeed in cheering you, if I cannot - I know what a good friend Mr Drummond is to you!”

He only just caught himself before he groaned aloud. He could barely think of the expression in Edward’s eyes the last time they had spoken without feeling a sharp stab of pain in his chest, and he felt that they were balancing on a cliff edge at the moment. A holiday together in Scotland, forced to act like friends casually relaxing and laughing together, _really_ did not sound like a very good idea.

“I believe Drummond may be too busy at the moment, Ma’am….the Corn Laws," he said, clutching at straws, trying not to let the stress show in his voice.

 “Oh nonsense, Lord Alfred," Victoria responded, characteristically headstrong. “Sir Robert will have to send someone, and who would he trust enough, other than Mr Drummond?” she asked, echoing Alfred’s own reasoning exactly.

“Besides, I think I speak for both of us when I say I would far rather have Mr Drummond accompanying us than have Sir Robert hovering disapprovingly like a large stuffed frog!”

Her eyes were gleaming with amused daring at her own impertinence, inviting Alfred to join in the joke. Alfred struggled to hold in a sigh.

“Indeed, ma’am," he responded, bowing slightly. “I am sure that Drummond will be excellent company.”

It appeared that he and Edward would both be attending Her Majesty to Scotland,  whether they liked it or not. 

*** 

Peel placed his reading glasses on his nose, picked up the immaculately calligraphed note in front of him on the desk, and began to scan it, looking for the part he wished to read aloud to Edward.

“Ah yes, here it is…. _’If you could please tell your fine secretary, Mr. Drummond, how glad we would be of his company in Blair Atholl, we would be much obliged.’_ _"_

Peel looked up at him.

“There you go, Drummond, lad - the Queen herself has specifically requested you by name! I hardly felt I could refuse! You should be very proud of that achievement; gaining that gracious lady’s approval is no easy feat," he finished somewhat bitterly - no doubt thinking of the many snubs Victoria had made him suffer through when he first replaced her beloved Lord Melbourne. 

Heart thumping so wildly he wondered it did not deafen Sir Robert, Edward continued to stare at him in horror.

Accompany the Queen and a select group of her courtiers to Scotland?

A select group of courtiers which would undoubtedly include Alfred?

Spend a whole week in Alfred’s company, after the way he had left things between them? When he had hurt him so badly, and was so ashamed?

No no no no!

“With all due respect, Sir, I don’t think I can….that is, I….”

He struggled, furious with himself for his sudden inability to speak like a coherent and reasonable person. Although he had great respect and affection for Peel, this conversation was already beginning to elicit uncomfortable recollections of his confrontation with his father a fortnight ago, which did not do a great deal to alleviate his anxiety.

Sir Robert, at least, did not have the same impatience and short temper of Charles Drummond. He was frowning at Edward, but it was concern lining his face, not anger.

“What is it you are trying to tell me, Drummond?”, he asked gently.

“It’s just that-" his brain whirring, he scrambled desperately for an excuse.

“My wedding is in only a few weeks, Sir, and the preparations…”

Peel’s frown increased.

“Drummond, I have asked after your fiance and how the wedding preparations are going numerous times over the past few days - as you know, I’ve been feeling somewhat guilty about monopolising you with work. Whenever I have asked, you have reassured me that the preparations are so far underway, you feel there is no way left for you to contribute apart from turning up at the church on time! That is the way of things, of course - I’m sure you know that, though the marriage contract is the domain of men, for the planning of the ceremony itself we largely relinquish our control to the women.”

Edward mentally cursed himself; why couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut?

“Besides," Peel continued, “did you not say that your fiance is currently at her family estate, Monteviot House? Blair Atholl is only a short journey from there, I believe - I’m sure she would be thrilled if you wrote to tell her you were coming to visit, or indeed invited her to join Her Majesty’s entourage in the Highlands. Though you have been invited in an official capacity on my behalf, this will still be a pleasure trip, so I am sure Her Majesty would not begrudge you some time with Lady Florence, particularly with your wedding so soon approaching. And _I_ certainly wouldn’t object to you spending a few extra days in Scotland with her - nobody could say you don’t deserve a break from everything, with all the work you’ve put in for me!”

Edward barely restrained himself from laughing bitterly, maniacally - if only Sir Robert knew how much he really, truly needed a break from his own life. A week forced to be in close quarters with Alfred, knowing how badly he had hurt him, and on top of that, extra time spent with Florence to ponder the marriage he was about to become trapped in?

This was getting better and better, truly.

“But Sir, the work towards repeal is very valuable to me, too!”

This, at least, was not a lie. 

“I could not, in good conscience, leave you to struggle with this alone, particularly with the vote approaching so soon….Perhaps, Sir, if another man were to go with the Queen to Scotland, on your behalf, and then I could stay with you at the House….”

“No.” Peel’s voice was calm, but firm - clearly, he wished the matter to be closed.

Although there was no anger on his face, the disappointment there was almost worse. Edward had gradually come to feel more respect and warmth for Sir Robert than he felt for his own father, and he hated the thought that his ridiculous excuses might cause the other man to start thinking of him as unreliable or untrustworthy.

“I really couldn’t say what has come over you lately, Drummond. We have always been on exactly the same page before, with no need for excuses or evasions; that is why I value your assistance so greatly. I believe I have made it perfectly clear that you have my permission to attend the Queen to Scotland; I am of course immensely grateful for all your help with the Corn Laws, and it is because of that help that my workload is currently manageable enough for me to cope without you for a few days.

“As for sending somebody else to Scotland, why would I do that? There is not one person working for this party who I can trust as I trust you, as I’m sure you know. Besides, you have already developed a rapport with the Queen and Prince; they are comfortable with you. You have that most rare combination for a politician, my lad: charisma, honesty, and decency. These are gifts; use them well and see how many friends and allies you can make.”

Peel picked up a document from the pile of papers on his desk, dipping a quill into the inkwell.

“What’s more, even if I wanted to keep you working at the House with me day in and day out, I’m not sure I would dare to tell Her Majesty I was sending somebody else. Seeing as she has requested you specifically, she might take it as an insult if you did not go. As you pointed out, I have a great many things to deal with at the moment - I certainly do not wish to add a disgruntled monarch to the list, particularly not one who holds grudges as this one does.”

Edward stood there, slightly dazed, trying to process what had just happened. For goodness sakes, he was in politics - wasn’t he supposed to be _good_ at arguing his points? Why did this keep happening to him? 

Peel had begun scribbling away on the document in front of him - clearly, he considered the matter closed.

“Try to enjoy yourself while you’re there, won’t you, Drummond? You’ve been looking almost as anxious and overworked as me!” 

Recognising the dismissal, Edward bowed slightly. “I shall do my best, Sir.”

“Good lad. That will be all. Let me know how it goes.”

“Thank you, Sir.” He turned on his heel and strode out before Peel could look up and see the frustration on his face.

He supposed he had better pack. Apparently, he was going to Scotland with the Queen - and with Alfred.

A vivid image of Alfred’s sparkling blue eyes rose unbidden in his mind, staring at him in that way which made him feel the other man was reading his soul like a book.

 Despite everything, he felt the familiar giddy fluttering feeling in his chest.   

***

The last few days in London seemed to pass by in the blink of an eye, and Edward found himself confined in the uncomfortably close quarters of a carriage with Prince Ernest, Miss Coke, and, as luck would have it, Alfred himself. It seemed as if fate was mocking him, playing with him. He had tried _so hard_ to stay out of Alfred’s way, and look where his efforts had gotten him! 

The tension between them was palpable. It was exquisitely painful to see just how hurt and disappointed Alfred was. For the first few hours of the coach ride, the blonde seemed so determined to avoid Edward’s gaze that he pointedly buried his nose in his copy of _The Iliad._

It was most unlike Alfred to disengage so thoroughly from everyone around him, Edward reflected - it was more in his nature to try and soothe any tension, always ready with a compliment, or a witticism, or a comforting remark. Perhaps that was why Prince Ernest and Miss Coke were looking at each other like that, frowning slightly in confusion.

He should do something to ease the awkward atmosphere in the carriage, Edward thought to himself desperately. He was known at court as one of Alfred’s closest friends, and it would not do if Alfred’s behaviour raised suspicions about a fight between them. 

But he was fully aware he did not have Alfred’s skill of relieving tension through a well-timed compliment or joke. He was too introverted, too straightforward - it wasn’t in his nature. He couldn’t convincingly amuse and flatter at the best of times, and certainly not in this state of mind.

And so, Alfred continued determinedly staring at his book, avoiding Edward’s eyes, while Edward tried and failed to gaze out of the window as though fascinated by the view, his gaze constantly flicking guiltily back to the blond, willing Alfred to look up from the page so he could see the apology in his eyes.

Eventually, Miss Coke began to chatter incessantly, with a slightly anxious edge to her voice - it was clear she was speaking mostly just to fill the silence. When she started addressing Alfred directly, gushing about Scotland and asking him what he was most excited to see, he had no choice but to look up from _The Iliad_ , and he somewhat reluctantly put it aside. He answered her graciously and kindly, with his usual charm, but it seemed he was not in any mood to prolong the conversation, for he quickly and uncharacteristically lapsed into silence again.

Miss Coke, not to be thwarted in her attempts to lighten the atmosphere, immediately turned to Edward. “I must congratulate you on your engagement, Mr Drummond”, she said warmly, smiling at him.

“Florence and I are old friends. She’s such a lovely girl, and so accomplished.”

Edward saw Alfred glance at him out of the corner of his eye, and his first instinct was to yell at Miss Coke, _“For god’s sake, not now!”_ Forcing down the urge to shout, reminding himself that the kindhearted young woman did not mean any harm, he attempted to hoist a polite smile onto his face, though he was fairly certain it looked more like a grimace.

“She has many virtues," he said, as courteously as he could, though in a tone which he hoped would convey his desire to close the topic as soon as possible.

To his mounting frustration, though, it seemed that his hint had not been taken.

“My felicitations," Prince Ernest chimed in next to him, a familiar mischievous expression on his face. “I hope that she is as pretty as she is talented?”

Edward struggled to keep a politely friendly expression on his face, wishing he could bang his head on the side of the carriage.

“I believe she is considered quite, uh….personable," he responded shortly. He glanced quickly over at Alfred, apologetic.

Rather than the anger he expected to see, though, Alfred was smirking slightly, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he watched Edward’s awkward attempts to shut the conversation down. Half-annoyed, half-relieved at Alfred’s reaction, he grinned shyly back at him, a warmth spreading through him as he dared to hope that Alfred might be starting to forgive him.

“Oh, you English," Ernest remarked, shaking his head in amused exasperation. “I believe, if you were to see Cleopatra bathing in asses milk, you would blush and say, ‘Oh….I believe she is considered quite personable.’”

Miss Coke giggled, and Edward reluctantly forced a laugh, meeting Alfred’s eyes again hopefully. 

Yes, that must be the reason he struggled to praise Florence effusively.

He was too English.

***

The Duke was waiting to greet them when they _finally_ arrived at Blair Castle, ready with much obsequious flattery for Albert and Victoria. They were given a tour of the medieval castle’s grandest rooms, the Duke waxing lyrical on the priceless furniture and the tapestries. It was indeed beautiful, Edward supposed; although it was somewhat difficult to fully appreciate all the architectural wonders when Alfred was standing so close.

The seemingly never-ending carriage ride had been so stifling that Edward would have preferred to go riding or exploring the castle grounds. He wanted some fresh air, and he certainly needed to clear his head a little.

But most unfortunately, it seemed the Duke had other plans for their entertainment.

Leading them into the high-ceilinged oaken great hall, where they sat down opposite a merrily crackling log fire, the Duke announced the first treat he had organised to give Her Majesty and the court their first taste of Scotland and its culture. With a grand gesture, a man named William Beattie was brought forward to perform an epic poem for them. Apparently, he was one of Scotland’s most preeminent and lauded physician-poets. As he stood before them, he smirked in self-satisfaction and extended his arms towards them, as though he was about to give them riches beyond their wildest imaginings.

Beattie’s overconfidence was not particularly justified, in Edward’s humble opinion. His poem wasn’t all that magnificent. In fact, he was struggling to remember the last time he had been this bored - and he had sat through countless long and tedious speeches in the House.

He, at least, had some practice in maintaining an expression of polite interest, even while someone’s words were lulling him to sleep. Victoria, though, didn’t seem particularly interested in appearing tactful or diplomatic - she was staring at the poet with an obvious expression of frustrated impatience, tapping her foot pointedly on the ground and glaring back at Albert when he shot her a warning glance. Prince Albert did not appear able to curb his brother’s behaviour, any more than he could curb his wife’s. Prince Ernest lasted only about ten minutes, before patting Alfred’s shoulder in a gesture of sympathy, and blatantly walking out of the room.

Beattie, though, seemed so caught up in his own genius that he didn’t even notice Prince Ernest’s rudeness, and he continued proclaiming at the top of his voice.

As Edward settled back in his chair, Beattie’s melodrama seemed to reach a new level of absurdity as he proclaimed something about “impending dangers to our crew”, and Edward heard a most familiar snigger from behind him, quickly stifled.

He turned to Alfred, grinning at him mischievously, before remembering that Alfred was angry with him. To his relief, though, Alfred grinned right back at him, his eyes sparkling with glee. They looked at each other for a second, sharing the joke, before Edward reluctantly turned to the front again; Alfred was making his temptation to burst out in giggles almost overwhelming.

He could barely contain his smile. It seemed ridiculous now, that he had been so worried about spending time with Alfred. He had been anxious and on edge for so long now, but Alfred’s beautiful laugh and his conspiratorial grin had made that familiar feeling of warmth, joy and safety flare again in his chest.

***

Although he had so dreaded being confined with him, Alfred was beginning to think that this trip to Blair Atholl might have been rather tedious if it were not for Edward’s presence. He was a little ashamed of the way he had behaved on the way, passive aggressively trying to show Edward that if he wanted to be left alone, Alfred was more than happy to accommodate him.

Eventually, though, he had had no choice but to abandon _The Iliad_ \- not that he had been taking it in anyway, feeling Edward’s gaze on him - as Miss Coke had started chattering and asking him questions. He had winced when her conversation had turned to Edward’s engagement, looking at him out of the corner of his eye and feeling inclined to sulk - but he had forgotten how difficult it was to be angry with the man when he looked so adorably awkward. Edward had obviously been trying to appear calm and unaffected, but, despite being a politician, he could not convincingly lie or dissemble to save his own life.

Of course he could have done without the reminder of Edward’s fiance, but that blow was somewhat softened by the way Edward’s molten chocolate brown eyes kept darting back to him, pleadingly apologetic for his failure to stop this train of conversation.

He had meant to appear cold, but he imagined Edward could see only affectionate amusement on his face.

As Prince Ernest had teased him for his excessive Englishness, Edward’s shy and hesitant smile in Alfred’s direction had lit up the carriage. Edward had walked away from him before, clearly warning him that they needed to keep some distance between them. But what incentive did Alfred have to keep a distance when Edward looked at him like that?

Despite his many years experience of diplomacy and tact as a courtier, he wasn’t sure if he would have been able to bear listening to that dreadful poet later that evening, if Edward had not been sitting there too. He could almost have screamed from boredom - as indeed Her Majesty appeared close to doing - and he watched with envy as Prince Ernest simply got up and left.

Eventually, his patience wore so thin that he felt his usually impeccable manners and tact beginning to slip away. Really, this man was so utterly ridiculous and self-indulgent that he could laugh out loud - and he realised a second too late, and without much caring, that he had already done just that.

Edward looked around at him. If he meant to look reprimanding, he was failing; all Alfred could see was that irresistible grin. Clearly, Edward was also struggling not to burst into laughter at the absurd pomposity of this man. They looked away from each other simultaneously, both fighting to keep their faces straight.

Fixing his eyes back on Beattie, attempting to force an expression of rapt attention onto his face, Alfred reflected that it was hard to remember, now, why he had been so fearful of Edward coming to Scotland with them. It was true that Edward had hurt him. But, if Alfred was being honest with himself, he understood that Edward had been trying his best, all along, in circumstances that had spiralled out of his control.

And, despite everything, Alfred knew nobody else would have been able to make him feel so giddy, mischievous and joyful, even while he sat through this man’s tragic attempts at poetry.

***

The next morning, Edward had the horrible impression that the Duke was keen for them to hear yet more poems performed by the wretched Beattie. Luckily, Her Majesty - clearly thinking along the same lines as he was, that she would rather bash her head against the wall than listen to another minute of his droning - quickly suggested that they might like to do some outdoor activities instead, and explore the famously beautiful countryside.

Somewhat reluctantly, the Duke had agreed to take them out on a fly-fishing trip, swearing that he was taking them to the best lake for salmon in the entire country. Edward was certainly appreciative of the wild beauty of the landscape, and he was glad of anything that would take him away from that poetry. But having lived in the city all his life, and having always been more interested in books than sports when he was growing up, he felt a little awkward and out of his element with the fishing.

He wasn’t entirely sure he knew what he was doing and so, not wishing to look like a clueless fool in front of the entire court - and Alfred - he retreated a little upstream by himself, so that he could practice in peace. He had had a hellish few weeks, and it was surprisingly relaxing, he found, to stand there soaking up the beauty around him, finally having some space to be alone with his thoughts.

He winced slightly as he heard the whistle of a fishing rod fly past him, so close it almost hit him in the face, followed by the sound of the Queen flirtatiously giggling with the Prince. Evidently, Her Majesty did not have much of a clue what she was doing either - not that she was letting it faze her.

After a couple of hours, Edward still didn’t feel he had made much progress. Fishing was certainly harder than it looked - and it had to be said, it was rather difficult to focus when he could sense Alfred’s gaze on the back of his head. He could feel a blush making his face uncomfortably warm, and he itched to turn around and look back at him.

But he was being ridiculous, he told himself firmly. _Just be calm_ , he reminded himself. _Just stand here, and relax, and fish._

He propped his foot up on the rock next to him, so as to balance better. If that happened to have the effect of making him look a little taller and broader, well, that was pure coincidence.

He stood there, trying to slow his own breathing down, waiting fruitlessly to feel a bite. After a few moments, unable to stop himself, he chanced a quick glance around at Alfred. He was no longer looking in Edward’s direction, but seemed to be politely conversing with Miss Coke. Edward sighed, trying not to feel disappointed.

Alfred seemed to sense Edward’s eyes on him, though, for he suddenly turned his face back towards Edward and grinned. Immediately, Edward felt the heat rising in his face again, and he hurriedly turned back around. In his panicked haste, his foot slipped off the rock, and he stumbled gracelessly, almost falling face first into the river.

He really wasn’t very good at fishing.

***

After the horrendous inflicted poetry of the previous evening, it had been lovely to finally get out into the fresh air and do some fishing, Alfred thought to himself. The stunning countryside reminded him of Plas Newydd, making him feel more at home - although he could not pretend his attention had been entirely captured by the river and the trees, stunning as they were.

He had vaguely heard Miss Coke sighing something about the sublime scenery, but he hadn’t in all honesty been the most attentive listener, having been somewhat distracted by a particular tall dark figure. A little disappointed that the brunette was so focused on his fishing that he seemed not even to notice Alfred’s gaze, Alfred turned back to smile at Miss Coke and talk to her properly, feeling a little guilty for being so ungallant. 

A few minutes later, still in pleasant conversation with Miss Coke, he suddenly had the unmistakable sensation that Edward was no longer ignoring him. Instinctively, he looked over at him, meeting his dark eyes for a split second and feeling the familiar warmth seep through him. Immediately, a pink stain began to spread over the other man’s cheeks, making him somehow even more beautiful than usual, and he turned around so fast that he stumbled and almost fell over himself.

There was an audible gasp from both Miss Coke and from the Queen standing behind him. “Poor Mr. Drummond!”, Miss Coke exclaimed in sympathy.

Alfred looked down, biting his lip to keep from smiling like a lovestruck idiot. Of course, if Edward were to ask him, he would swear on his own life that neither he nor anybody else had seen.

***

As the party made their way back towards the carriages, Alfred could see that Edward’s face was still crimson with embarrassment as he ducked his head, trying to avoid everyone’s eyes. Victoria’s colour was up, too, but it seemed as she beamed at her husband that this was due more to excitement and a heady sense of liberation than to embarrassment. Practically bouncing up onto her horse next to Prince Albert, she turned her flushed face to the Duke and gleefully announced that she and the Prince were going to ride back by themselves. 

Alfred barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes fondly; he knew what that meant, as did everyone else in the court.

The Duke frowned in concern. “Are you sure, Ma’am? It’s not a side-saddle….” 

“Quite sure," she responded, a little smugly. The Duke looked for a moment as if he wanted to argue the point, but seemed to decide (rather wisely, in Alfred’s opinion) that there would be little point in trying to stop Victoria from doing whatever she wanted. 

“Very well," he conceded, somewhat reluctantly.

“Don’t let them out of your sight," he muttered in an undertone to a nearby guard, who nodded.

The Queen and Prince were already galloping off ahead, giggling together like mischievous school children escaping supervision. Shaking his head a little, Alfred turned back to the rest of the party, smiling to himself as he noticed that Edward was still blushing.

“I hope you did not hurt yourself, Mr. Drummond," Miss Coke said kindly. “Those rocks were certainly very slippery. Is there anything I could get you?”

Edward turned, if possible, an even brighter crimson. He mumbled something to Miss Coke about being ‘fine’, looked helplessly back at Alfred for a second, and then nearly ran towards one of the waiting carriages, shutting the door before anyone could join him.

Alfred tried not to sigh. It seemed he would not be having Edward’s company on the way back to the castle.

He smiled at Miss Coke, gesturing to the next carriage, and she beamed brightly at him as he held out his hand to help her in. His mind still mostly full of Edward, he vaguely registered that Miss Coke had been standing waiting for him, rather than approaching Prince Ernest as she usually did. He wondered vaguely if her new partiality to him might become an awkward problem at some point.

He kept his arm out graciously for the Duchess of Sutherland - not that she needed it. She looked at him with a knowing little smirk, as only one his oldest friends could do. He looked down, a little sheepish for once. It should've been irritating that Harriet could see through him so clearly - but then, she had been so melancholy since her husband’s sudden death that he was just happy to see a smile on her face, however brief.

As they began to trundle along the rocky and uneven road, he smiled absentmindedly at Miss Coke as she continued to chatter and wonder aloud if poor Mr. Drummond was really alright. Harriet’s face had fallen back into melancholy as she gazed silently out of the window, huddled in a corner of the carriage.

Suddenly, he became aware that something was wrong. He could hear panicked voices outside the carriage yelling _“Stop! Halt!”_ Their carriage jolted to an abrupt and uncomfortable stop, making them lurch back in their seats. Miss Coke gasped in alarm, and Alfred and Harriet looked at each other, frowning in concern. A feeling of unease roiling in his stomach, Alfred stood up, gestured to the ladies to wait in the carriage where it was safe, and got out.

The Duke seemed to be tensely conversing with one of the guards. Making his way over to investigate, Alfred saw Edward hurriedly approaching from his carriage, his earlier embarrassment apparently forgotten. Meeting Edward’s eyes for a brief moment, Alfred saw worry that reflected his own.

As they both drew closer to the Duke, Alfred had the distinct impression that the Duke was struggling to maintain an impression that everything was under control. “Where’s Her Majesty?” Alfred heard him demand of the guard.

 “I thought she was with you, Sir!” came the defensive response. 

The Duke swore under his breath, before turning to address Alfred. “The Queen and Prince have gone astray," he said shortly.

Alfred and Edward glanced at each other in horror, Alfred internally cursing both Victoria and Albert for their stubborn overconfidence, and the incompetence of the Duke and his men. The Duke looked as though he had absolutely no clue what to do, and Edward had blanched paler than Alfred had ever seen him. Alfred could tell Edward was already thinking in terror of what he was going to say to Peel, and his familiar instinct to comfort and ease tension kicked in, despite his own anxiety.

“They can’t be that far behind, surely?” he asked as calmly as he could manage.

The Duke barely seemed to hear him. “I don’t understand how this could have happened," he muttered, more to himself than to them, it seemed. “With the mists coming in….I should never have let the Queen out of my sight!”

Alfred met Edward’s eyes again, raising his eyebrows slightly. They both knew Her Majesty well enough to understand that no man could stop her when she was determined, not even her husband and certainly not the Duke. Anyway, the damage was done - all they could do was find them quickly and pray they were not hurt.

He watched as Edward perceptibly straightened his spine and spoke in his authoritative ‘Secretary to the Prime Minister’ voice.

“I think, Duke, we should waste no time in looking for them," he said firmly.

“Yes," Alfred agreed, a little late, struggling to stay focused on the urgent matter at hand, rather than on the ridiculous fluttering in his chest caused by Edward’s suddenly deep and assertive tone.

“Lord Alfred?” Edward asked expectantly.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Alfred’s heart leapt at the knowledge that, in this moment of crisis, Edward seemed to turn instinctively to him. Struggling to seem businesslike, he nodded and followed the other man away from the carriages.

***

Although some part of him knew he was being illogical, Edward was furious at himself. He couldn’t believe that he had been so caught up in his own embarrassment at stumbling that he had somehow failed to pay attention to the Queen’s whereabouts - he had literally been sent on this trip on Sir Robert’s behalf, to keep an eye on Her Majesty! How on earth was he going to tell the Prime Minister that neither he nor anybody else knew where she was at the moment, or where the Prince was either? 

Determined to take action as it did not seem the Duke was going to be of use any time soon, he had suggested that they split up the search party, and had called on Alfred for help without even thinking about it. He knew full well that he had told himself to maintain a distance, but he felt more anxious than he had done since the conversation with his father. He had managed to fail Sir Robert, who had put his trust in him, by losing track of the Queen - for all he knew, he thought as he went cold all over again, both Victoria and Albert could be lying prone in a ditch somewhere -  and this new fear and guilt only caused his terror about what was waiting for him when he got back to London to come bubbling to the surface again.

He knew that it was Alfred, and Alfred alone, who had the ability to make him feel remotely calm and safe again while he searched, who might be able to distract him from the images of Victoria’s twisted and broken body that were flashing through his mind. Reaching out to him for help had been nothing but instinct.

Together, the pair of them peered down over the edge of a huge cliff, Edward’s heart thumping so loudly it was almost deafening him.

There was no sign of them down there.

Part of him wanted to sink down to his knees in relief, while simultaneously his chest constricted even more in anxiety. They had not found the Queen and Prince at the bottom of this cliff, thank God, but the fact remained that they still had no idea where they were. Every moment that passed without finding them was another moment of terror.

As his eyes traced over the myriad of sharp branches and jagged rocks jutting out below them, a truly insane thought came to him.

It would be a truly horrible way to die, but, if he were to fall now - or to jump - at least he would not live out the rest of his life in disgrace and infamy as the incompetent Private Secretary who had let the Queen die, throwing Britain into turmoil. At least he would not have to face his wedding, living the rest of his life as a lie.

At least Alfred’s eyes would be the last thing he would see.

“If we fell," he said quietly, half hoping Alfred would not hear him, “it could be months before we were found.”

He sensed rather than saw Alfred gazing at him with gentle concern. “You seem very calm at the prospect," he remarked in response.

He wondered if he dared admit what he was thinking. But he _needed_ to voice his fears to someone, before they drove him insane - and who could he possibly tell other than Alfred?

“I’m more afraid of going back to London," he confessed quietly, staring out into the gorge, somehow unable to meet the other man’s eyes as he laid himself bare.

There was a pause before Alfred spoke. The silence seemed, to Edward, to stretch out endlessly.

“Really," Alfred murmured. 

It did not seem like a question. There was none of the judgement in his voice that Edward had been fearing. He did not even seem particularly shocked. He spoke as if he had been waiting to hear Edward speak these words, and Edward knew that Alfred was not going to push him for more, but was going to wait patiently until he was ready to go on.

Edward nodded, clenching his jaw, trying to blink back tears. He was so ashamed of being so scared, and Alfred’s quiet support and acceptance meant so much to him that he couldn’t think how to put it into words.

Feeling he might crumple if he continued in this vein, Edward stepped a little further back from the cliff edge to reassure Alfred that he was not actually going to hurt himself, turned to face him, and cast about for a somewhat lighter topic with which to distract himself.

“I noticed you were reading _The Iliad_ on the way over," he said, trying to sound calmer.

Alfred grinned a little sheepishly. Edward supposed that must have sounded like quite a pointed comment about Alfred’s passive aggressive behaviour earlier, although he genuinely hadn’t meant it like that.

“Not in the original, I’m afraid," Alfred responded. He frowned a little, staring into the distance as though his imagination was taking him many miles away.

“I find the death of Patroclus….most affecting.”

“Yes," Edward agreed, thoughtful; whenever he had reread _The Iliad_ , the story of Achilles and Patroclus had been the one that touched him the most, too. “The lengths Achilles went to to honour his friend.”

Alfred looked at him strangely, as though Edward had just said something faintly amusing.

“You believe they were friends?" His eyebrows were raised, and the corners of his mouth were twitching as though he was trying not to laugh. 

Edward looked back at him, frowning slightly. Something in Alfred’s affectionately teasing face seemed to suggest that they were no longer talking about _The Iliad._ His question was clearly charged with meaning, judging from the spark in his blue eyes. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond, and it was a little difficult to think clearly when Alfred was looking at him like that.

“I wouldn’t know what else to call them," he answered, trying to tread carefully.

Alfred’s amusement only seemed to increase at this. His smile seemed to light up his whole face, stunning Edward with its beauty. Rather than responding with words, he reached out to touch Edward’s arm, then withdrew his hand all too quickly, and started to walk away.

Edward stood staring after him for a second, his entire arm deliciously tingling with electricity from Alfred’s brief touch. He felt slightly dazed. He wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but he felt suddenly that he could do anything. Somehow, Alfred’s smile and his touch seemed to have restored his faith in himself.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, he smiled to himself a little as he set off after the other man.

“Alfred!” he called as he caught up, a little louder and more excitedly than he had intended.

Alfred turned, waiting for him with a small smile that made his heart turn over again.

“Alfred, I….thank you," he said, a little breathlessly.

Alfred quirked an eyebrow. “For what?”, he asked, as Edward finally caught up to him and they continued strolling together.

“For helping me search. For staying with me, for keeping me safe from myself, for listening to me, for….everything.”

Alfred smiled, looking down as if he was trying to cover up some emotion. “That’s alright.”

“No, but it’s not alright, it’s…” Edward was struggling to form coherent sentences, his heart thumping rapidly. He felt oddly desperate, as though this moment was the only chance he would get to explain himself and make amends.

“Alfred, I haven’t had the chance to… to apologise.”

Alfred stared at him, shock written on his face. Whatever he had expected, clearly, it had not been that. He seemed temporarily speechless, for once, and Edward seized his chance to keep going. He wasn’t entirely sure where this new bold honesty was coming from - perhaps it was simply that, with the Queen missing and his marriage looming, he did not feel he had anything to lose. Regardless of what was causing it, he didn’t know how long it would last - he knew he had to say this before he lost his nerve. 

“After….after France, I had no right to treat you like that, cutting off contact, snapping at you about things that weren't your fault," he said hurriedly, stumbling over his own words as shame coursed through him, not meeting Alfred’s eyes.

The other man gave no sign of interrupting, so he hurried on.

“I just….I’ve been so overwhelmed, Alfred. And I know that’s not an excuse," he added hastily. “My wedding is so soon, and I didn’t know how to cope-" he laughed, a little hysterically, causing Alfred to look at him in concern. “I tried to….examine my options, but….”

He flinched a little, the memory of his father’s cold anger still fresh in his mind. The mere thought made his chest begin to constrict in panic again, and he looked at Alfred, using his gentle blue eyes to steady himself.

He sighed. Alfred looked worried enough about him as it was; he did not need to go into any more detail about what his father had said. Alfred only needed the basic gist to understand.

“Even if I disliked Florence, my family wouldn’t consider that an obstacle," he confessed, starting to feel the walls of his trap closing around him again.

“And do you? Dislike her?” Alfred asked him. He could tell Alfred was trying to make it sound as though his question was not of much consequence, but he could hear the slight, vulnerable tremble in the other man’s voice. He wanted to soothe Alfred, but he knew it was pointless to lie.

 “No," he admitted, thinking of his old childhood friend and desperately wishing he did not have to hurt her. “No, in fact I care for her deeply. But, I don’t think I’ll ever…..um…”

He couldn’t find the right words.

“Love her," Alfred prompted softly.

Once again, it was not a question. Alfred was simply helping him to complete his thought, as though he knew what Edward was thinking, because he was thinking the same.

Edward nodded, gazing at him. Alfred had looked at him flirtatiously, he had looked at him amusedly - but he had never looked at him quite like this. Edward felt he could barely remember how to breathe.

Alfred’s eyes seemed to have some mysterious ethereal quality that made him lose track of both time and place. He had no idea how long he stood there before Alfred’s voice broke him out of his trance.

“We should be….heading back," he said with a small smile, his tone apologetic. He sounded as though he was trying to remind himself to move, as much as he was reminding Edward.

Edward stared after him.

There was barely anything he was sure of anymore. But one thing he was absolutely certain of was that, no matter what else happened, no matter what threats his father had given him, he could not stay away from this beautiful man. And - for now, at least - he felt it was pointless even to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, they haven't quite got round to THAT bit yet - please don't kill me! They'll be getting there very soon!
> 
> Thank you so so much to everyone who has been reading and supporting - you're all wonderful and amazing <3 <3 
> 
> Comments and kudos fuel me and make my day <3 <3 xxx


	5. My Heart's in the Highlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Alfred desperately wait for news of the Queen and Prince.
> 
> Once they learn that the two have been found safely, they turn to each other in their relief and their happiness, leaving all pretence behind them for a night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, apologies for the wait - I keep underestimating how long these chapters will take me! Though in my defence, there is A LOT to get through for our boys in this Scotland episode ;)
> 
> I did say I would try to make Chapter 5 a bit shorter than Chapter 4, but.....it would appear that I lied. 
> 
> This chapter is LONG, everybody. Just so you know. Also, plenty of fluff incoming, and a warning for some mild and non-graphic smut - it's my first attempt at writing it!
> 
> So, as Leo says in the Build interview when Jordan is about to start talking; "bed down, buckle in!"

Alfred could not deny that he was concerned about the Queen and Prince.

It had been many hours since they had become separated from the rest of the court, and despite various people searching, including he and Edward, it appeared that they were no closer to being found. Feeling that he knew the Queen better than most of the others did, though, and understanding how strong and fierce she was, Alfred was able to comfort himself with the thought that, wherever she was, she was probably safe and thoroughly enjoying her chance to explore the place she had longed to see, with her husband at her side and free from the prying eyes of her court.

So, although he was concerned, Alfred had a great deal of faith in Victoria’s ability to take care of herself, and of Albert too. The person that he was most worried about at the moment, in fact, was Edward.

It was clear to him that Edward was entirely - and irrationally - blaming himself for the whole debacle. Evidently, he was castigating himself for ‘failing’ Sir Robert, fully believing that he would be in utter disgrace when he returned to London. 

What was more, he had not fully understood just how desperate and terrified Edward was about his approaching wedding - not until he had seen him looking down over that cliff edge. When he had pondered aloud how long it would be before his body was found if he fell, his tone had sounded almost….longing. As if the thought brought him some peace. It had sent a chill down Alfred’s spine to hear Edward, so beautiful, so brave and kind and intelligent with so much to look forward to, speaking like that.

And when Edward had confessed that the thought of going back to London scared him more than the thought of dying a painful death on the rocks at the bottom of the cliff….No. No, no, no, was the only coherent thought in Alfred’s mind. The misery on Edward’s face, the utter despair as he gazed into the abyss below them, was too much to bear; it felt like a knife between his ribs.

Alfred had wanted to hold the other man tightly in his arms, to cradle and soothe him and promise him he would keep him safe from all the hurt; but he knew he couldn’t. For one thing, he was frightened of overwhelming Edward, of hurting and confusing him even more. Edward was so vulnerable at the moment, and he certainly didn’t want to risk hurting him more by making any gestures that made him feel pressured to reciprocate, or worsened his guilt.

And, what was more, Alfred honestly wasn’t sure if he _would_ be able to protect him, and that thought was agony. How could he give Edward false hope?

He thought he had managed to sound much calmer than he felt, but perhaps Edward had noticed the fear on his face, for he had finally stepped back from the cliff edge - which had been an enormous relief - and had begun to talk about _The Iliad_ with the air of trying to reassure Alfred. Alfred had seized the opportunity to further distract him from his dark thoughts, teasing him a little. Really, he could not help but be amused by the fact that Edward could think of no better word for the relationship between Achilles and Patroclus than ‘friends.’

Was that also the word he used to describe their own relationship, he wondered? Because the expression in those soulful dark eyes suggested otherwise.

And when he had struggled to find the word for what was missing between him and Florence, and Alfred had suggested that the missing element was love…

The look in Edward’s eyes had told him that some things did not need to be spoken aloud to be understood.

It was incredibly easy to lose track of everything around him when Edward looked at him like that, but eventually reality came crashing in. They had to report back, finding Her Majesty and the Prince was of the utmost importance. He was thankful, though, that he seemed to have managed to soothe Edward somewhat, even if only for a while. He hoped Edward knew that, although Alfred could not make any guarantees, he would always do everything in his power to keep him happy and safe from pain.

Nothing else was as important as that. 

***

But he was finding it much harder to keep Edward calm, now they were back at the castle. Tensions were unexpectedly running high, with everyone except Edward himself unwilling to take any of the blame.

Alfred silently watched Edward with worry, wishing there was more he could do to soothe him.

As soon as they had returned, everyone else had rushed at them with queries about what they had found, if there had been any clues. It had been difficult for Alfred to see the disappointment and the fear on their faces when he admitted they had no news, but he could clearly see that Edward’s anxiety was so much worse.

Every moment that ticked by, he could tell, was another moment of Edward blaming himself, of loathing himself.

The Duchess of Buccleuch, opinionated and unapologetic as usual, was certainly not helping matters with her harsh criticisms. Usually, he was quite amused by the old woman, even vaguely fond of her in a strange kind of way. But he was certainly not in a mood to tolerate her kicking Edward while he was down. 

Edward was standing separate from everyone else, staring into the fireplace as though unwilling to meet anybody’s eyes. He was sipping from a glass of whisky (which, Alfred noted, was not his first), his hand shaking slightly, and he was making absolutely no attempt to defend himself from the Duchess’s words. He simply bowed his head in shame.

Alfred, on the other hand, felt his blood begin to boil at her words.

This was _not_ Edward’s fault. He knew that the Duchess enjoyed being antagonistic, but to reproach Edward when he was needlessly tormenting himself more than enough already, when he had genuinely seemed to consider throwing himself off a _cliff_ earlier, was completely unforgivable.

He did not like confrontations if he could avoid them, and he was rarely baited enough to rise to them. He was much more at home in the role of peacemaker.

But Alfred had a line, and the Duchess had just crossed it. 

“You’re not to blame, Drummond," he reminded Edward in a low, urgent voice, catching himself just before he referred to him intimately by his first name, and once again cursing the fact that they were surrounded by people. _“Nobody_ , not even _you_ , Duchess," he continued, turning to glare at her, “can stop the Queen when she puts her mind to something!” 

“ _I_ would have told her to be sensible!”, she said haughtily. Alfred clenched his teeth to stop himself from causing an argument. “God knows where they are now”, she continued gloomily. “Probably at the bottom of Glen Something-or-Other with their necks broken…”

Alfred winced as Edward made a small, strangled sound of terror, which he quickly stifled, and Harriet simultaneously gasped loudly and ran from the room, her face pale and tears in her eyes. He turned back to the Duchess, glaring at her once more. Apparently causing Edward pain wasn’t enough for her; it seemed she was also determined to torment his oldest friend

She did at least look a little ashamed this time - he supposed as much as she was capable of.

Prince Ernest, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, watched Harriet go with concern creasing his face, and then got up to follow her. Alfred felt a little relieved at this. He was glad there was somebody to comfort his best friend, because at the moment his mind was fully occupied trying to take care of Edward as best he could.

As darkness descended outside and Edward’s face became more anguished by the minute, Alfred decided he should at least get him away from the Duchess’s silent and judgemental glare. Getting up to stand next to him at the fireplace, Alfred murmured a quiet suggestion that they might do better to go to the antechamber outside and wait for the return of the Duke and his search party.

Edward nodded blankly, still staring into the fire. Alfred was not entirely sure that he’d even taken his words in, so he reached out and gave Edward’s arm a small tug - trying to ignore the little spark of heat that flared in his chest as he did so - and steered him gently out of the room.

Once they were out in the hallway, he released him. Edward swallowed and glanced at him with terror in his eyes. “Alfred..."

“I know," he responded gently. He did not want Edward to have to feel he had to explain himself in any way; he just wanted to reassure him of his presence and his support.

Edward simply gazed at him for a moment, looking like a man who had no clue what to do with himself. He nodded, and began pacing up and down in agitation. Alfred watched him, knowing how much Edward hated to feel useless. He wished he had the power to make Victoria suddenly appear in the doorway with Albert in tow, laughing at the chaos she had left behind.

He could not have said how many hours passed as he watched Edward pace. The castle had become completely silent around them, other than the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. A glance beyond the curtains told him that it was pitch black outside, and he realised that it must be very late by now.

 _Finally_ , the two of them heard voices in the entrance chamber, the Duke’s unmistakeable amongst them. Alfred locked eyes with Edward, needing to know that he was prepared for the news, whatever it was. His jaw locked and tense, his eyes still clouded with fear, Edward nodded once as if to say that he was as ready as he would ever be. They went out into the entrance chamber, Edward almost running so that Alfred struggled to keep up with his long strides. 

Alfred knew as soon as the Duke turned to greet them that his news was not good. “No sign of them anywhere," he told them, in a voice that was flat and hopeless. 

Alfred glanced quickly at Edward, who nodded, his jaw still tightly clenched, as if this news was exactly what he had expected. He watched as Edward straightened himself to his full, considerable height, clearly steeling himself. “Duke," he said, attempting to speak in his official _Prime Minister’s Secretary_ voice again, though the effect was somewhat ruined by his voice shaking. “I feel it is my duty to inform the Prime Minister.”

The set of Edward’s jaw told Alfred that he was determined to tell Peel about his own ‘failure’, regardless of what the consequences might be for him. To try and hide it would be alien to his nature - in fact, Alfred wouldn’t be surprised if Edward offered to resign before Peel could get a word in edgeways. That stubborn decency and honesty was what Alfred adored most about the other man. But he could see that the prospect of informing Peel terrified Edward. Regardless of whose fault this truly was, Edward would certainly be running the risk of losing Peel’s trust forever if he told him.

Alfred was aware that the situation was looking bleaker with every hour that passed. He tried to force his mind away from the images of his friend Victoria in pain, or worse. She was strong, he knew it.

They needed more time, that was all.

“Perhaps we should wait till daybreak," he suggested gently, trying to diffuse the gathering tension.

Both Edward and the Duke looked at him, and then back at each other. They nodded, relief written across their faces. Alfred’s suggestion gave them a few more hours of hope to cling to. 

***

The sunrise was spreading a pink and gold stain over the horizon now, and as Edward watched it, his whole body aching with anxiety and fatigue, he wished insanely that he had the power to rewind time. He had followed Alfred’s suggestion to wait until daybreak, he had paced up and down all night waiting for the sky to lighten. But there was still no word, and no sign of them returning.

If only he could turn back the clock, he thought to himself madly, desperately, he could go back to that fishing trip yesterday and somehow persuade the headstrong Queen to stay with the rest of the court.

He could even go further back while he was at it, and undo his stupid decision to propose to Florence. 

Wishing with every fibre of his being that he did not have to face the coming day, he slowly walked back to the Duke and Alfred, who were restlessly sleeping in uncomfortable wooden chairs.

He had intended to wake Alfred up, as he had promised to do when the sun rose, but watching Alfred as he slept, he found he couldn’t bring himself to. Alfred’s face was usually so careful and guarded, as he had been so long a courtier. But now, as he slept, his face was completely open and vulnerable, his long fair eyelashes resting against his pale cheek.

Edward didn’t think Alfred had ever looked as beautiful as he did right now - which was saying a lot - and it gave him a sharp pain in his chest to think that he might never again have the chance to see his face so open and peaceful as he slept. He couldn’t bear to be the one to disturb Alfred from his peaceful dreams in such a way, forcing him to wake up to a terrifying and uncertain world in which nobody knew what might happen. 

And so he hung back a little, just gazing.

But Alfred seemed to sense his presence anyway, for he began to stir drowsily, blinking a few times. Those sapphire blue eyes, still a little clouded with sleep, met Edward’s. He didn’t sit up hastily or attempt to make himself look more presentable, but simply looked at him, comfortable enough in his presence to let Edward see him in this unguarded, vulnerable and beautiful state.

He did not even have to say anything; Alfred’s eyes traced over his weary face for a moment, before Alfred sighed slightly and inclined his head towards the Duke dozing opposite him. Edward nodded, steeling himself, and awkwardly shook the Duke’s shoulder to awaken him.

The man grunted in surprise and quickly sat up, fixing his eyes hopefully on Edward’s face. “Are they….?”

Edward shook his head slowly, jaw clenched tightly. He couldn’t even bring himself to say it aloud.

The Duke looked down for a moment, seemingly trying to compose himself. Then he nodded once and got heavily up from his chair, walking slowly and wearily from the room.

Edward could feel Alfred’s eyes on him, soft and concerned, but he couldn’t bring himself to look back at him. He did not deserve the gentle understanding on Alfred’s face. 

There was not much else to do now, he supposed, other than to go upstairs and write a letter to Sir Robert straight away - though God knew what he was going to say.

If nobody had found them yet, he imagined the court would swiftly pack up, and he would be trundling in a carriage back to London, to face Peel - and, soon after, his wedding - by nightfall. At least he might catch up on some sleep on the way, he thought.

***

Alfred felt horribly useless as he watched the Duke leave the room and then Edward, resolutely avoiding Alfred’s gaze, follow suit. He didn’t have to ask to know that Edward was going to write a letter to Peel. He flinched at the thought of the consequences such a letter would have, particularly as Edward was bound to paint himself as entirely to blame. 

He had wanted desperately to comfort Edward before he left, to reassure him that there was still time, that it was too early to worry Sir Robert. But he knew he couldn’t say that to him without lying. At this point, even Alfred, with all his determined optimism and his faith in the Queen, had to admit it was highly unlikely she and Albert were still unharmed.

Now alone in the room, he wandered over to stare out of the window, absentmindedly watching the sun rise higher in the sky. He couldn’t quite picture a world where Victoria was not in control, seemingly beyond harm, making Alfred have to stifle his laughter at her barbed wit. He simply couldn’t comprehend that the wonderfully brave and headstrong Queen, who he had come to think of as a friend, might be gravely injured, or worse.

He shuddered, trying desperately not to wonder if the Duchess had been right after all in her gloomy prediction of Victoria and Albert’s fate at the bottom of a glen. 

If the situation wasn’t so terrible, Alfred thought to himself with dark humour, it would have been laughable. After all, it was as the Duchess had said: how _could_ anyone just ‘lose’ a Queen? It must be more than three and a half centuries since the last time a monarch of England had been completely unaccounted for.

He wondered vaguely what they were going to do now. Perhaps some of the court would stay here and continue to search for the next few days while the rest of them returned to London, even though the searching seemed more futile with every hour that passed. Perhaps, he thought grimly, one of Victoria’s repulsive uncles would have to be brought over to London to become a Regent for little Prince Bertie. It sent a chill down his spine to think that he might spend years bowing and scraping to a man he detested and had no respect for, likely watching Victoria’s young son be exploited, forever wondering what had happened to his friends Victoria and Albert and wondering how much of the blame lay with him.

And of course, assuming Edward was not completely disgraced when they got back, there was also his wedding to look forward to… For a moment, he thought that Edward’s desperation to avoid going back to London, at any cost, might not have been so insane after all.

He knew that he should start organising his things, start telling the others to prepare for the journey back. But he couldn’t bring himself to move. As soon as he left this room and began packing for London, he knew that Victoria’s continuing absence, which was weighing on him like a hand pressing down on his skull, would turn from a strange and surreal dream into a solid, terrifying reality.

At long last, he forced himself to admit that he could not simply stand here forever. As he was trying to work up the resolve to go upstairs, however, the sound of birdsong was suddenly drowned by a commotion from out in the hall. Bewildered, Alfred distinctly heard the Duke’s voice. “What is the meaning of this racket?! Surely, you haven’t….she isn’t…”

Alfred felt a small bubble of hope beginning to expand in his chest. Surely, there could not now be good news, after all these hours….? Breathing fast, hardly daring to believe it, he nearly sprinted into the hallway.

The Duke was surrounded by a group of his uniformed men, their faces currently flushed pink with cold - they had evidently only just come in. Alfred approached them cautiously, just in time to hear one of the men begin babbling excitedly to the Duke in his heavy Scottish accent. “Your Grace, we’ve found them, we’ve found Her Majesty and His Highness the Prince, they spent the night in a wee cottage with an old couple, simple common folk but…”

“You mean to say that Her Majesty and His Highness are safe?”, Alfred interjected, as the Duke simply stared at the man in shock.

The man nodded enthusiastically, bowing slightly in his direction. He was stumbling a little over his own words, clearly still in disbelief at their luck. “Yes, my Lord, they are both completely safe and sound, they have had a restful night! Truth be told, they seemed a little reluctant to leave - we rode ahead to deliver the message as fast as possible, but they are on their way back to the castle now!”

Alfred clutched at the back of a chair to stop his knees from giving way in relief. His head was spinning. After all the hell he had just been through, they were safe, really and truly?!

He felt a broad grin spreading across his face. Victoria and Albert were riding back now, they were not even harmed, they were happy...everything was going to be alright.

 _Edward_ , he realised.

He needed to tell Edward immediately, he needed to see the tension leave his body and his face light up in relief. Perhaps if they sent a rider out, they could stop Edward’s letter in its tracks before it reached Peel. Of course, he knew that the message needed to be spread to everyone, as quickly as possible. But Edward was his priority, and always would be.

Unable to wipe the grin from his face, he bowed to the other men. “If you will permit me, Your Grace, I will go and spread this most happy news to the others,” he said smoothly. “I shall be back down here, ready to welcome Her Majesty and His Highness, before you know it.”

The Duke beamed at him, wringing his hand and thanking him for his help over and over until it was all he could do to get away.

Finally, he freed himself and began to bound up the staircase, feeling lighter than he would have thought possible only ten minutes ago.

In his excitement, Alfred practically flew into Edward’s chamber without even stopping to knock. Edward was standing gazing out of the window, as Alfred had done for so many hours downstairs, anguish still creasing his brow. In Alfred’s state of joy and relief, the other man looked even more beautiful than usual as he turned around, his expression a little bewildered.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alfred saw that Edward’s quill and inkwell were lying next to a completely blank sheet of paper. It seemed, then, that Edward had not yet written anything to Peel. He grinned wider still - another burden off his shoulders. 

He looked back at Edward, who was still frowning a little in confusion at Alfred unceremoniously bursting in. Alfred felt a giddy desire to laugh.

“They’re safe," he said simply.

For a moment, Edward was completely still, staring at him in shock - Alfred wondered if he had even understood him properly. Then, he released a sigh of utter relief, as though expelling every tiny bit of anxiety and fear from his body, and his entire face lit up with the most gorgeous smile Alfred had ever seen.

Without any warning, he took two long strides across the room, and before Alfred knew it, he was in Edward’s arms. He laughed in surprise, instinctively putting his own arms around the other man in return, burying his face in Edward’s shoulder and breathing in his woody, musky scent. 

He had sworn to himself that he would not overwhelm Edward by making any advances on him, he had told himself that he would leave the pace entirely up to Edward - but he had never expected the man to actually follow through. And the way he had practically thrown himself across the room when Alfred had told him the news, as if his first, unfiltered instinct in his joy was to hold him….

He closed his eyes and tightened his arms around Edward, sighing a little. He could not remember _ever_ in his life feeling as warm and safe as he did now. Strange how naturally Edward’s arms seemed to cradle him, as if they had always been meant to hold him.

Was it _really_ so important that he was downstairs to welcome Victoria back as soon as she returned? He really would be quite content staying here for a few more minutes. Or hours.

Somewhat reluctantly, it seemed, Edward pulled back a little - Alfred tried to ignore his ridiculous instinct to cling onto him stubbornly. Edward’s gaze traced over his face, and Alfred could see shock mingled with joy in those intelligent dark eyes he loved so much. There was something else there, too. It wasn’t warmth, exactly….it was more akin to heat.

Alfred swallowed hard, suddenly realising how close their faces were. He was finding it oddly difficult to breathe. All he could think of was Edward’s eyes and his mouth, which looked so invitingly soft. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered vaguely how ridiculous he looked right now.

When had he become this transparent? 

Edward smiled a small, oddly wistful smile at him, and then gripped his shoulder gently. “Good," he said quietly, his tone laced with affection and warmth.

Good?, Alfred wondered blankly, through the fog that seemed to have taken over his brain. What exactly was he referring to? What was good?

Oh….he had come here to tell him that Victoria and Albert were safe. It seemed a long time ago he had come in, though it could only have been a few minutes.

Reluctantly, he disentangled himself. He supposed they had better get down there and wait for them. Surely, though, the Queen and Prince would not be requiring their presence _all day_?

***

Victoria, far from seeming stressed or traumatised, seemed to be positively gleaming with happiness, looking more relaxed than Alfred had ever seen her. As he bowed over her hand and looked up to see the mischievous excitement dancing in her blue eyes, he felt almost irritated that she looked so carefree and rested, after the hell they had all been going through and the horrible things he had been imagining.

But that feeling was immediately overshadowed by an overwhelming sense of joy that his friend was somehow happy and safe after such a strange misadventure. “Ma’am," he said with great feeling, “I really must insist that you do not leave my sight again for the foreseeable future. I do not think that I have the constitution to handle it.”

She laughed her tinkling laugh. “Come now, Lord Alfred, you are not giving yourself enough credit! I am utterly convinced that it was entirely due to you and your charms that everybody else was able to keep their peace of mind while I was away!”

Behind him, he distinctly heard the Duchess make an indignant tutting sound - Victoria looked at her, raising one eyebrow imperiously, and she fell silent. Alfred sensed rather than saw Edward trying and failing to hide his smile.

Albert reached out a hand to shake Alfred’s. “Glad you could join us, Your Highness,” Alfred remarked, grinning up at the Prince.

“We have spent a most enjoyable evening, Lord Alfred,” the Prince responded. “But we are certainly glad to be back.”

He looked back and exchanged a grin with his brother, before moving on to shake Edward’s hand.

Alfred could hear Edward stammering apologies for his own negligence, and was very grateful to hear the Prince’s response. “There is no harm done, Mr Drummond,” Albert reassured him. “I can promise you that when I speak to Sir Robert, I will have nothing but good things to say about you.”

The Duke cleared his throat. “May I say, on behalf of us all, what a wonderful relief it is to have you back with us, Ma’am, Your Highness,” he said, bowing unctuously to each of them in turn.

“If you would like to come inside, into the warmth, we have managed to prepare an evening of entertainment for your last evening in Blair Castle. After you, Ma’am,” he said, gesturing up the stairs.

Alfred groaned internally. He had a sneaking suspicion about the ‘entertainment’ that the Duke had prepared for them; chancing a quick glance at Edward, he saw that he had had exactly the same thought. 

Trying to force a diplomatic courtier’s smile onto his face, Alfred held out a hand graciously for Victoria. She took it, her other hand still intertwined with her husband’s. Alfred was quite proud of his neutrally polite expression - although he had not counted on how difficult it would be to keep a straight face when Victoria sighed and dramatically rolled her eyes at him.

As the Duke led the way into the Great Hall, Alfred sighed.

He could clearly see that wretched poet Beattie standing at the front of the room, looking as self-important as ever. It appeared his theory had been correct.

He hung back to let everyone else pass him into the room.

As the others filed in ahead of him, he felt a familiar warm tingling in his chest. He did not even have to look round to know that Edward was the only person left standing in the doorway with him.

An insanely reckless thought came to him, no doubt borne of his sleepless night, and the lingering and intoxicating effect of Edward’s earlier embrace.

Nobody was watching them, and besides, they would surely all be lulled to sleep within a few minutes.

But no, he couldn’t possibly suggest that, that would be undignified and ridiculous…

He was going to suggest it.

He looked up at Edward from under his long eyelashes.

“You know, Drummond," he said in a low voice, cautiously addressing him by his last name as they were not yet out of Miss Coke’s earshot. “I think that we may have more fun if we join the servants.”

Edward looked at him, and for a split second Alfred wondered if he had overstepped, or alarmed him.

But no - there was an unmistakable gleam of excited mischief in his dark eyes, and his entire face was lighting up with a slow and conspiratorial grin that made Alfred’s pulse race.

Suddenly, Alfred felt so excited that he could hardly keep still, drumming his fingers gently on the windowsill to release a little of his restless energy.

He couldn’t help but grin back.

“After you," he said with mock ceremony, gesturing for Edward to lead on.

Glancing back half-heartedly for a second to check that nobody was waiting for them, Edward started down the corridor at a brisk stroll, so that Alfred had to jog a little to keep up with him.

He started to giggle quietly, trying in vain to smother the sound, and Alfred could not help but join him.

He couldn’t quite believe how ridiculous they were both being, sneaking away before anyone could notice them, as though they were a pair of mischievous schoolboys, rather than the Queen’s Equerry and the Prime Minister’s Private Secretary. It was glorious.

He hurried down the corridor, his hand resting gently on Edward’s back, feeling his warm, solid and reassuring presence beneath his palm, as they left the rest of the court to their tedious poetry.

***

As soon as Alfred had brought him the news that the Queen and Prince were safe and on their way back, all of Edward’s tension and fear had seemed to drain out of his body. Suddenly, he had felt as if there was nothing he could not do; he felt light enough to fly.

Operating on pure instinct he had bounded across the room and pulled Alfred into his arms.

It had taken a few moments for rational thought to catch up to him. As the other man had relaxed into his embrace, tightening his arms around him in return, Edward had felt his entire body spark with electricity. A giddy sense of joy had coursed through him as he had inhaled the soothing, fresh rainwater scent of Alfred’s hair.

Realising that he had been embracing Alfred for an absurdly long time, he had reluctantly pulled back a little, and seen that Alfred’s beautiful eyes had turned suddenly so dark they were almost indigo, and there was a hunger in them.

He felt almost as though he had been ensnared - he had not quite realised how close their faces were. If he just leaned in a fraction of an inch….

He had blinked, trying desperately to return to sanity, and reluctantly pulled a little further away.

He’d smiled a little as Alfred stared at him, and gripped his shoulder lightly, trying to reassure him. Alfred had gripped back, seeming less like he was trying to reassure and more like he was trying to keep himself steady.

Heart thudding, Edward could not think how to convey how much this meant to him. He had settled for simply responding to Alfred’s wonderful news. 

“Good," he had said. Alfred had blinked, looking bewildered and disoriented for a moment. Edward had laughed, wondering if it was possible to adore him any more, and gestured that they should go downstairs.

It was wonderful to see the Queen and Prince, to know beyond any doubt that they were perfectly safe and happy, and he was grateful to the Prince for his efforts to reassure him, though Edward hardly believed he deserved it.

But he was sure there must be better ways to celebrate than listening to yet more insufferable poetry.

Evidently, Alfred was thinking along the same lines, for he had also hung back behind everyone, and had made the ridiculous suggestion that they should join the servants instead.

Edward knew full well it was absurd and reckless.

But they were making their way back to London tomorrow, and they had both had a long and sleepless night filled with anxiety. Surely it was alright for them to actually enjoy themselves for a few hours?

He had looked at Alfred’s mischievous face, and hadn’t been able to stop himself from grinning back.

“After you," Alfred had told him, and together they had snuck away from the others, Edward trying in vain to suppress his giggles and feeling the warmth of Alfred’s palm through his coat.

He was the Prime Minister’s Secretary, he thought to himself, he was supposed to be a dignified government official.

What had this beautiful man _done_ to him?

He had danced countless times at numerous and tedious balls, struggling to smile at and hold conversations with endless young women who all seemed to blur together. If only somebody had told him what he had been missing while the servants had their own celebrations! There was no dull small talk to get through, no dance card he had to stick to or mothers flocking towards him, holding their daughters by the wrist and dropping heavy hints. In fact, the servants barely even seemed to notice his and Alfred’s presence, which suited his introverted nature a great deal better.

He beamed at Alfred as they toasted each other and drank another mug of Scottish whisky. He wasn’t entirely sure how many drinks he had had now, but the alcohol warmed him, giving him a searing feeling that was like an extra dose of courage.

Rather than the elegant but slow music he was usually expected to dance to, the musicians were playing a tune so fast it was almost a jig. Somehow, he and Alfred had ended up partnering each other, as he had so often wished to do as they smiled at each other across the ballroom at the Palace. Nobody was paying either of them any attention, and he felt amazingly giddy and free as Alfred spun him around. He was feeling a little gloriously dizzy from a combination of dancing and whisky, but Alfred’s warm blue eyes were keeping him steady, and he knew that the other man would never let him fall.

As the sun started to set, staining the sky with gold, they stopped dancing, breathless and laughing, and took off their coats. Looking around, Edward saw that the party showed no signs of winding down any time soon. Though it was the most fun he had had in a very long while, he also thought that it would be a shame not to find some peace and quiet on their last night in Scotland. Reaching out to relieve Alfred of his coat, he gestured with his head towards the lake. Alfred stared back at him for a second, and nodded.

As they walked across the castle grounds towards the lake, giggling tipsily, Edward felt the warm golden peace of the evening enveloping him like a blanket. As the lake came into view, sparkling in the sunset, Edward stood still for a moment, letting the beauty of the scene wash over him.

“Hand me a dram of that whisky, will you," came Alfred’s deep, melodious voice from behind him.

He turned to pass Alfred the whisky, and rid himself of both tailcoats he was carrying by flinging them over a nearby statue, feeling as he did so that he was casting off the stupid roles they were forced to play around the court. He did not want them to be Lord Alfred Paget and Mr Drummond tonight - just Alfred and Edward.

He stood looking out to the horizon, feeling Alfred’s gaze on the back of his head. Despite everything, he felt like the luckiest man alive right now, sharing this quiet moment with Alfred.

He sensed rather than saw the other man approaching, and turned to face him. “These midsummer evenings are so enchanting….don’t you think?”, Alfred asked him quietly, his eyes tracing over Edward’s face.

Edward looked at him, about to respond, but he couldn’t seem to find any words. He felt his heart turn over as he gazed back at Alfred, his face glowing in the setting sun. How was it possible for one man to be so beautiful, he wondered, trying to remember how to breathe.

He felt a deliciously warm sense of anticipation spreading through him from head to toe, as Alfred looked down at his lips, and then flicked his blue gaze back up to meet his own dark one. Alfred’s dark blue eyes were hesitant and vulnerable, and they seemed to be silently asking him a question.

He was absolutely sick of denying himself. He still couldn’t seem to form any words, so he surged forward to answer the question by gently pressing his lips against Alfred’s. As he felt Alfred’s soft, warm and yielding mouth against his own, his heart expanded with such joy that he thought his chest might burst. He could scarcely believe his own daring, but it was certainly too late to turn back now, and he had absolutely no desire to. It was about time he admitted to himself that this, right here, was all that mattered to him. 

He pulled back, needing to see Alfred’s face and ensure that he had not stepped over a line. His long eyelashes fluttered open. Edward’s heart turned over yet again - he had never seen such a look of awestruck wonder on Alfred’s face. His head was spinning and it seemed difficult to breathe, but that feeling seemed to vanish as soon as he pressed his lips back to Alfred’s. Strange how, in only a matter of seconds, kissing Alfred seemed to have become as essential for him as oxygen.

Reluctantly, he broke away once more, slightly concerned that he had made Alfred overwhelmed. But after only a split second, Alfred pulled Edward’s face back towards him, curling his hand around the nape of his neck and kissing him back as urgently as if his life depended on it. Edward felt Alfred’s tongue slide gently between his lips, and he gripped him tightly, fighting back a moan.

It would appear he might have underestimated both of them.

They broke apart once again, foreheads resting against each other. Breathing hard, Edward couldn’t seem to wipe a ridiculous grin from his face as he stood there drinking in the sight of Alfred. Alfred’s eyes were still closed - he did not seem quite ready to come back to earth yet. As Edward watched him, he released a soft little sigh, as though he had only just managed to convince himself that this was real, and a little smile appeared on his face, tugging at the corner of his mouth, as he moved his hand slightly to tangle it in Edward’s hair.

Edward grinned even wider, feeling that he was almost floating in bliss, as Alfred gently nuzzled his nose. Closing his eyes, he brought his nose to rest against Alfred’s. He felt so overwhelmed he wasn’t sure if he was going to laugh or cry. He hadn’t even known it was possible to feel this much emotion, this much joy.

***

After all the anxiety of the previous night, Wilhemina was not in the mood to sit and listen to yet more of Beattie’s seemingly endless poetry. It seemed she wasn’t alone in feeling this way; as she had followed her aunt into the Great Hall, she had distinctly heard Lord Alfred say in an undertone to Mr Drummond that they might have more fun if they joined the servants. She had turned around to see the pair of them disappearing down the corridor, laughing together. 

She hesitated. She knew she would much rather spend time with the kind, sweet, Lord Alfred than sit listening to Beattie drone on, but she wasn’t quite sure how to escape from her aunt’s beady eye. Luckily, it seemed that an anxious, sleepless night had left her formidable aunt less sharp than usual. Pretending to more exhaustion than she felt, she had begged leave to go and rest in her room, and the Duchess had somewhat absentmindedly granted her permission to leave, already settling herself in for a nap as she rested her chin on top of her walking stick.

Hardly daring to believe she had got away so easily, Wilhemina had immediately slipped out to follow Lord Alfred and Mr Drummond, who were already a long way ahead. 

By the time she arrived at the merry and raucous servants’ party in the wood, she saw that the two men had already been pulled into a circle of dancers. Though she would have quite liked to join them, there was a whole crowd of loud and somewhat tipsy servants in between them, and she was not keen on jostling through them all, so she settled for watching the chaotic dance, smiling to herself.

She giggled as she noticed that Lord Alfred and Mr Drummond had begun to jump around ridiculously and swing each other in a circle. It was lovely to see them so carefree, after they had been so worried and miserable.

After a while, she herself was swept into a fast reel by some enthusiastic servants, who did not seem to notice or care how out of place she was.  Giggling and somewhat dizzy, she lost track of the two men for a little while, and when she finally managed to extricate herself, she suddenly noticed they were wandering off in the distance.

She frowned, and immediately began trying to catch them up. She didn’t think they’d seen her yet, but she was keen to spend some proper time with them on their last night in Scotland - particularly with Lord Alfred, who was always so funny and charming, and so kind to her.

Slightly out of breath, she had come to the gate which the two men had just walked through. She was on the cusp of calling out to Lord Alfred and waving, but what she saw made her freeze on the spot, every other thought vanishing from her head.

She could not believe her own eyes. She knew, deep down, that Lord Alfred did not feel anything more than friendship for her, and if she was being completely honest with herself she also knew that she wasn’t truly in love with him, but rather with the idea of a kind and gentle man who loved her. Nevertheless, she had occasionally wondered how painful it would be to see Lord Alfred with another woman.

It had not occurred to her that she would see him with a man.

He was standing there, wrapped in a close embrace with Mr Drummond, their noses and foreheads pressed together. Lord Alfred had one hand placed on Mr Drummond’s chest, the other twined in his hair - and as they stood there, whispering to each other, she saw that there was more joy and intimacy in the way they were gazing at each other than she had ever seen between two people. 

It did hurt a little to see Lord Alfred so blissfully happy with someone else, and so completely oblivious to her presence, though much less than she’d imagined it would. But mostly, she was bewildered; she didn’t know what to think. She might not know much about this, but she certainly knew that the Bible forbade physical intimacy between men, and she had only ever heard such intimacy described as a perverse and sinful urge, nothing like the holy purity of the love between a man and a woman.

But she could not for one second believe that Lord Alfred was in any way perverse or evil. As for Mr Drummond, she did not know him so well, but he had always seemed sweet and sincere. But she was starting to come to the uncomfortable realisation that perhaps he was not as straightforward and honest as she had thought.

After all, it was common knowledge that he was engaged to her dear friend Florence Kerr; in fact, if she was not mistaken, the wedding was planned to take place in only a matter of weeks. And yet, here he was, closely entwined with Lord Alfred, gazing at him as though there was nothing more precious in the world.

Surely, Florence could not possibly know about this? Wilhemina was certainly no expert, but judging from the way these two men were looking at each other, this was not just a momentary dalliance or an indiscretion. It seemed almost unimaginable to think that Florence’s intended had already given his heart away to another man, rather than to another woman, but she could see clearly from Mr Drummond’s expression of pure joy that this was the case.

Thinking of how much pain it would cause Florence if she were ever to find out about this, Wilhemina suddenly felt a sharp twist of anxiety in her stomach as she remembered the letter she herself had sent to Florence only a few days ago.

Knowing that she was at her family’s Scottish estate, Monteviot, at the moment, she had written to Florence about how lovely it was that Mr Drummond had been invited by the Queen to come with them, and - fool that she was - she had also asked how long Mr Drummond would be staying with Florence at Monteviot after the rest of the court went back to London. But she had not once heard Mr Drummond mention anything about staying on in Scotland to visit his fiance. In fact, she was fairly certain he was returning to London with them tomorrow. And judging from the fact that he was currently cradling Lord Alfred’s face in his hands, she had the feeling that Florence was not foremost in his mind. 

Suddenly, it seemed like a very bad idea to have sent that letter. What if she was now complicit in causing her friend heartbreak? She began to panic, breathing fast. She did not know what to do - she could hardly take back her letter, she had sent it days ago. Florence might already have received it for all she knew. The best she could hope for was that the letter had somehow gotten lost on its way to Monteviot. It was out of her hands now.

She glanced back at the two men. They were still completely oblivious to her presence, utterly absorbed in each other. There was nothing she could do, she supposed, except leave them, and try and make sense of what she had seen.

Head still spinning, she turned and fled back towards the castle.

*** 

It was steadily getting colder as the sun set further, but Edward couldn’t seem to tear himself away. Alfred was stroking his hair, nose still pressed against his own. Trying to swallow down his emotion, Edward reached up to cradle the other man’s face in his hands. Alfred’s skin was soft and warm, and, tracing a thumb gently over his cheekbone, he wondered vaguely how he would ever force himself to leave, when he had waited so long to touch Alfred like this.

Alfred looked at him from underneath his eyelashes, his blue eyes sparkling with happiness. “I’m not dreaming, am I?” he asked quietly, his voice trembling slightly. 

Edward laughed. He felt like he was flying. “I don’t know,” he responded. “Perhaps we both are. But, if that’s the case,” he continued, running his thumb carefully along Alfred’s jawline, “then I rather hope we don’t wake up any time soon.”

Alfred stared at him, desire laid bare on his face, and fiercely pulled Edward’s mouth back towards his own. His kisses were becoming somewhat desperate, and Edward shivered as Alfred’s tongue began to explore his mouth. He tightened his arms around the other man, needing to feel every inch of Alfred’s warm body against his own.

He almost whimpered when Alfred broke away. Alfred smiled a little and interlaced their fingers, as they leaned their foreheads against each other again.

“I’m sorry for being an idiot,” Edward whispered. “This shouldn’t have taken me so long, should it?”

Alfred grinned at him. “Well, now that you mention it….”

Edward grinned back as Alfred leaned forward to press another kiss to his mouth, gentle and sweet this time.

Alfred sighed as Edward kissed his head softly. “We have to go back, Edward. It’s nearly dark. We’ll be missed at dinner.”

 Stubbornly, he held Alfred more tightly and shook his head, inhaling the scent of his hair. “I can’t….Alfred, I cannot simply go on as before, pretending….I could not bear it,” he said. “We are due to go back to London tomorrow and….”

He swallowed, fighting back the fear which was creeping up on him again at the thought.

“Please, Alfred,” he whispered. He saw his own yearning mirrored in those mesmerising eyes, before Alfred reached up to stroke his face. 

“Edward, we must go to dinner, it cannot be avoided. It would look too suspicious if we were both unaccounted for,” he said reluctantly.

 Edward sighed and looked down. Alfred gently tilted his chin up, tracing his eyes over Edward’s face. There was a familiar gleam of excitement and mischief in his eyes, but underlying that was a kind of hesitation that Edward was far less used to. “We must be accounted for at dinner, but nobody would be looking for us later...at midnight, say. Remember in France?”

Edward grinned. “You would like to have another midnight picnic?”

“Well….” Edward was somewhat taken aback to see a pink blush staining Alfred’s cheek, making him look even more gorgeous. “Actually, I was thinking that I could leave the door of my chamber ajar. I would wait for you. That is, if you want to.” 

Alfred looked at him, vulnerable. “Do you want that, my darling?”

Edward’s breath caught at the endearment. Sneak into Alfred’s room after midnight? Desire, fiercer than he had ever known, coursed through him.

But what if they were caught? This was beyond reckless, he realised; this was foolhardy.

But he was going back to London tomorrow, and soon enough he would be facing his wedding.

It was now or never.

“Yes, Alfred,” he whispered, a grin spreading across his face and a leap of excitement in his stomach. “Yes. I will come at midnight, without fail.”

***

Dinner seemed to be a never ending affair. Luckily, nobody seemed to have even noticed their absence; everyone was exactly where they had left them, in a stupor from Beattie’s poetry, when they had returned. So that was one less worry. But Edward found it close to torture, sitting at the dinner table and attempting to make polite conversation while Alfred sat across from him. He was trying desperately not to glance at him too often. He was so feverish with nerves and excited desire that he could not concentrate on what anybody was saying.

At one point, he had jumped as he felt Alfred’s foot begin to slowly and very deliberately stroke up and down his calf under the table. He pulled his leg away quickly, and tried to shoot Alfred a warning look, though Alfred might have seen only desire mingled with panic. The feeling was wonderful, but he was struggling enough to control himself as it was; if Alfred kept doing that a moment longer, he wasn’t sure he trusted himself not to leap on him in front of everyone.

Alfred gave a tiny sigh and moved his foot away, turning to converse with Miss Coke next to him, who seemed strangely withdrawn.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the dinner was over.

It seemed, after the stress of the previous night, almost everyone was feeling too exhausted for the usual entertainments after dinner, which gave Edward the perfect opportunity to excuse himself and dash upstairs. In truth, he was starting to feel his sleepless night catch up to him, but he was too overwhelmed by anticipation and excited desire to notice it much. It was only about ten, and they had agreed to wait until midnight until the coast was clear.

As the clock ticked relentlessly, Edward paced up and down his room, burning up with impatience.  He paused hopefully whenever there seemed to be silence, and then cursed when he heard footsteps or voices start up again.

He thought back to the way he had paced early that morning, terrified and desperate for news, and he felt his heart soar at the thought of everything that had changed in just a few hours.

 _Finally_ , he heard the clock strike midnight. He listened hard. All seemed still and quiet outside. He padded silently out into the chilly corridor, shivering slightly in his loose fitting nightwear. He breathed a sigh of relief, seeing there was nobody about, and made his way down the corridor to Alfred’s chamber.

There was light spilling from underneath the door, which Alfred had left ajar just as he had promised. He gathered himself, his heart beating so hard it was almost deafening him, and gently pushed open the door.

Alfred was pacing restlessly, just as he had been doing, but he froze when Edward entered, staring at him with both hunger and relief written across his face.

At the same moment, they moved together, and simply clung together, Alfred burying his face in Edward’s chest as Edward kissed his hair. 

“I missed you,” they sighed simultaneously. They pulled back to look at each other and laughed. “For future reference, Alfred,” Edward murmured, “that….thing you were doing at dinner,  with your foot, was wonderful. But it isn’t fair of you to do such things when we are in public, and then expect me to control myself.”

Alfred’s eyes darkened to indigo, and he seized Edward by his shirt collar, pulling him forwards and crushing their lips together.

Arousal flaring once more, Edward cupped his face in his hands and kissed him back, hard.

Acting on instinct, it seemed, Alfred began walking them backwards towards the bed.

Edward panicked, breaking away from the kiss.

Alfred looked at him, clearly trying to mask his disappointment. “What is it, Edward?”

“I…” He wasn’t entirely sure how to explain himself. “It’s just, I’ve never done anything like this before, Alfred. Not even close. Don’t misunderstand me, I want to - God, Alfred, I want to - but I’m just….I’m just not sure…”

He trailed off as Alfred reached up to stroke his face, nothing but understanding and adoration in his eyes.

“I have desired you since the first second I saw you, my darling,” he whispered. “You cannot imagine how amazing it feels, just to know that you want me as well. The most important thing for me is that you are comfortable and happy.

So we will go at whatever pace you choose, Edward. I promise you, I will be happy no matter what we do, just as long as you are here with me.”

Edward looked at him, feeling his heart swell with love at these words, and cupped his face, kissing him fiercely once more. Alfred being so understanding and giving him the lead made him feel suddenly bolder.

His desire steadily increasing, he tentatively slid his tongue into Alfred’s mouth, gently stroking the other man’s tongue with his own.

Alfred was clearly trying to hold himself still and give Edward the reins, but it seemed he had not been expecting _that_ ; he whimpered and clutched Edward tighter, stroking his tongue in return. Edward grinned against his lips and found that he was now the one backing Alfred against the bed.

As Alfred lay back against the cushions, Edward lay down on top of him, another thrill running through him as he felt every part of Alfred’s beautiful, lithe body pressed against his own. It was somewhat overwhelming, after he had spent so long restraining and denying himself.

He trailed his kisses across to Alfred’s jawline, smiling as he felt Alfred shiver beneath him, and then began to focus on his neck, kissing and nibbling, breathing in the warm, sweet scent of his skin. Running on instinct, he began to kiss harder, sucking the soft skin into his mouth.

There was a loud moan from Alfred, and the next thing Edward knew there was a ripping sound, and buttons flying everywhere.

He looked at Alfred, raising his eyebrow and struggling to contain his laughter.

“I thought you said I was in charge for now,” he remarked.

“I did,” Alfred responded. 

“I see. I didn’t realise that you tearing my shirt open constituted me being in charge,” he teased. 

Alfred didn’t seem very abashed. “Well, I thought you said you were shy. You don’t seem very shy to me, Mr Drummond," he responded.

Edward grinned, nipping at Alfred’s ear gently.

“Perhaps you’re a bad influence on me,” he suggested. 

“Mmm,” Alfred responded, running his hands slowly over Edward’s bare chest. “Or a good one.” 

He shivered as he felt Alfred’s smooth hands tracing patterns against his bare skin, and dipped down to claim his mouth again, fumbling with Alfred’s own shirt as he did so.

Alfred quickly unbuttoned his own shirt, and Edward impatiently pushed it from his shoulders. As he ran his hands across the blonde’s chest and shoulders, gazing at him in wonder, Alfred suddenly rolled him onto his back and began swirling patterns on the roof of Edward’s mouth with his tongue, stroking and touching his chest.

Edward gasped, every coherent thought seeming to fly from his head. All he knew was that he was drowning in sensation, and yet he desperately needed more.

He groaned, bucking up against Alfred, hands wandering over his warm skin, as Alfred ground down against him, hands still exploring Edward’s own chest. It was utterly intoxicating to actually feel the evidence of Alfred’s arousal against his own.

He responded to Alfred’s fierce kisses with his own, completely forgetting his nerves. He kept moving against the other man, revelling in the fact that he was surrounded in his scent and warmth and everything _Alfred_.

As he pushed up against Alfred again, Alfred leaned in and mischievously nipped at his ear. He suddenly felt a great rush of pleasure, more intense than anything he had ever felt before. He gasped, his whole body trembling, trying to muffle his moans against the other man’s mouth. Almost at the same moment, he felt Alfred’s body jerk in his arms. He threw his head back and gasped out Edward’s name, before collapsing on top of him.

After a few moments, the blonde raised his head, staring at Edward with a look of bliss and wonder on his face.

Edward felt a sudden wave of emotion at the intimacy of what they had just done. He didn’t even know if it was possible to be happier than he was at this moment.

He swallowed, blinking back sudden tears, and looked at Alfred. Alfred looked back at him, his own eyes bright with tears, stroking his thumbs over Edward’s cheekbones.

Edward couldn’t think what to say, how to communicate how much this meant to him. “Alfred, I….I….”

“Sshh,” Alfred whispered, tracing his thumb over Edward’s lips. “I know.”

Edward smiled at him, wondering when he had fallen so hopelessly in love with this man.

Alfred leaned in to press a gentle, almost chaste kiss against his lips. Edward nuzzled against his nose, copying Alfred’s own action from earlier. Alfred sighed, and rolled off of Edward, curling up facing him on the pillows. Intertwining their fingers, Edward raised Alfred’s hand to his lips and kissed each finger gently. Alfred smiled, his eyes fluttering shut. His breathing became rhythmic and slow only moments later. Clearly, he was more exhausted than Edward had realised.

Edward grinned to himself, curling his arms around Alfred and breathing in his scent as he, too, drifted off to sleep. He did not know what the next few days would bring. But he could not imagine ever feeling happier or safer than he did right now.

***

When Alfred awoke, sunlight streaming across his face, it took him a moment to remember why he felt so ridiculously happy.

He stretched, his body stiff from his deep sleep, glorious memories of the previous evening and night washing over him. He was sure now, almost beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Edward fully reciprocated his love as well as his desire. He had been so beautiful, so passionate, and he had somewhat taken aback and impressed him with his boldness.

He had made Alfred feel more aroused than he ever had been in his life, as though there was fire coursing through his veins, and yet he had been so gentle and tender at the same time.

Alfred grinned, his eyes still shut, before another, far less pleasant thought came back to him, bringing him back to earth with a bump. Today was their last day in Scotland. They would all be heading back to London in a few hours. He would return to his court duties, and Edward would return to Parliament… and to preparations for his wedding.

God only knew what this meant for the two of them, and when - or _if_ , he thought with a pang - they would ever get to spend a night together again.

He rolled over, needing to snuggle into Edward’s embrace, feel the reassurance of his warm body next to him - but to his dismay, his hands clutched only at cold and empty sheets.

He bolted upright, panicking for a second, and saw that there was a note there on the bed, in Edward’s distinctive calligraphy.

He sighed. It was foolish of him to expect Edward to still be here at this hour of the morning. Judging from the bright sunlight and the various sounds coming from outside, it was late enough for not only servants but other courtiers to be up and about already. Edward must have left hours ago to avoid being seen.

He knew that Edward was just being practical, and of course nothing was more important than him staying safe and avoiding suspicion.

But it still felt strange and wrong, waking up without him.

He reached out for the note tentatively.

_Alfred,_

_I’m sorry I had to leave so unceremoniously. I couldn’t afford to be spotted coming out of your chamber. I would have woken you to say goodbye, but you looked so peaceful, I could not bring myself to._

_You are amazing. And beautiful. But I’m sure you already know that._

_Please, meet me in the drawing room at 10 this morning. Come in through the door on the east wing side; I will enter through the west wing door._

_Yours,_

_Edward._

Alfred smiled to himself, stroking his thumb absentmindedly over the paper. It was frustrating that they still had to dissemble like this, Edward creeping off before sunrise, even planning to walk into a room from opposite sides of the castle to make it appear they were just running into each other coincidentally.

And the thought of going back to London was terrifying.

But Edward’s letter made his entire body tingle with warmth and affection. _Yours, Edward._

He looked at the clock, seeing that it was already almost 9:40, and he jumped up, hastily dressing himself. He didn’t want Edward to be left awkwardly waiting for him.

As he hurriedly pulled an outfit together, he noticed the buttons scattered all over the floor. With another flare of desire, he grinned to himself as he thought of Edward hurrying back to his own room in the darkness, his nightshirt gaping open.

His pulse was racing in his excitement as he hurried downstairs. He needed to see Edward, now. 

At the drawing room door, he inhaled, taking a moment. His heart was thumping, but he needed to appear as though he was just wandering in nonchalantly. He walked in, nodding politely at Prince Ernest, who was standing by the fireplace. He was too anxious for a sight of Edward to think of a witty greeting as he usually did.

Barely a moment passed before the door opposite opened and Edward walked through. Although he knew they were not alone, he could not help himself from walking towards the other man, as though in a daze - it was as though they were magnetised towards each other. He could not seem to tear his eyes away from Edward’s face. He gazed at him hungrily, as Edward stared back, and he felt the weight of their imminent departure settling uncomfortably in his stomach.

He wished he could kiss him fiercely, feel those soft lips against his again.

Instead, he looked into those gorgeous dark eyes, which were tracing just as hungrily over his own face, trying to convey everything he was feeling through his gaze.

“Back to London," Alfred said quietly, trying and failing to sound lighthearted.

Edward nodded, looking back at Alfred with his eyes full of love and sadness. “Back to London," he repeated.

Alfred could not seem to turn away. Edward’s eyes had often made him feel lightheaded, as though he was under a spell, and that feeling seemed only to have increased after last night.

The sound of the door opening behind him jolted him out of his trance. He saw Harriet walk over to join Ernest, as Miss Coke smiled at the two of them and walked over to stand between them. He felt a somewhat irrational flicker of irritation at her, but he forced himself to smile politely. “Would either of you care to learn the bagpipes with me?” she asked them cheerily.  “I want to treasure these last moments here in Scotland.”

Alfred was sure that Edward would feel uncomfortable and awkward around Miss Coke, and so he prepared to politely turn her offer down, already thinking of an excuse.

But, to his surprise, Edward responded first. “So do I, Miss Coke,” he said, without taking his eyes from Alfred’s face. 

Alfred’s breath hitched at the expression in Edward’s eyes. It seemed he had been wrong; Edward did not much mind what they did today. or who they were with, just so long as they were together. 

He grinned. The way Edward was looking at him made him feel he could fly. He turned to Miss Coke. “After you,” he said graciously, gesturing for her to lead the way.

Once her back was turned, he smiled at Edward, hardly even caring that he looked like a lovesick idiot. Edward smiled conspiratorially back at him, gazing seductively at him from underneath his eyelashes. 

Neither of them knew what would happen when they got back to London. Alfred knew only that their beautiful time together in the Highlands was drawing to a close - and he was determined not to waste a moment of the hours they had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed all the fluff, because there is quite a lot of angst coming up for our boys in the next few chapters - here comes my version of 2x08! Yes, we will soon be steering further away from canon!
> 
> The title, 'My Heart's in the Highlands', is apparently a quote from a Robert Burns poem, written in 1789. The more you know :)
> 
> Once again, thank you so so much to everybody who has been leaving comments and kudos - it really does make my day!
> 
> See you all for the somewhat angst-ridden Chapter 6!


	6. Back to London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are back in London, and Edward is now absolutely certain that he can neither go through with his engagement nor stay away from Alfred.
> 
> Unfortunately, Wilhemina's letter to Florence has arrived, causing an extremely angry Marquess of Lothian to storm down to London. He is looking for Edward, but he might just run into Alfred first...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a slightly shorter chapter! Apologies for the lack of fluff in this chapter - this is the interim between the boys arriving back in London, and going out for dinner at Ciros in 2x08. Have to at least try to explain why the lovesick Lord Alfred behaves so strangely at the restaurant!
> 
> Also, introducing the one and only Florence Kerr - get used to her, everyone, she's going to be around a lot!
> 
> Brace yourselves for incoming drama - Chapters 6 and 7 might be quite a ride!

As the morning sunlight streamed over the luxuriously decorated dining room of Monteviot House, Florence Kerr sat lost in thought, struggling to tune her father’s voice out.

He was talking at length about her wedding, of course. It seemed that nobody ever spoke about anything else around this house anymore - not that that was so surprising, she supposed. After all, it was only a matter of weeks until the day she was due to marry Edward Drummond. Her stomach roiled uncomfortably with nerves as she thought about it. Somehow, despite everyone harping on about it all the time, her imminent wedding still seemed to have somehow snuck up on her.

Not for the first time in her life, she darted a frustrated glance at her father. Unsurprisingly, he did not even seem to notice that she hadn’t been listening properly. Even though he was speaking of matters pertaining to _her_ wedding, _her_ life changing forever, he did not ask for or care for Florence’s opinion any more than he ever had done.

No, he was rambling on, as usual, about his business arrangements with other men, which she was of course not invited to participate in. In this particular case, from what she could gather, he was talking about a meeting he had next week in London. It seemed he and Edward’s father, Charles Drummond, were going to be discussing her dowry.

Florence was fully aware that her father didn’t care what she thought, and she also knew perfectly well that her mother’s main priority would always be ingratiating herself with her husband to avoid his rage. It was pointless to wish she could speak to her parents about this wedding, to explain this anxious weight in her stomach. Nobody had noticed her paleness, the shadows under her eyes that were the result of the nights she had spent, lying awake worrying.

She knew that Edward Drummond had simply been doing what both his father and hers required of him when he had proposed to her. Not that he hadn’t been kind about it, of course. And of course she had accepted him - she knew all the benefits of the match, and she certainly hadn’t been prepared to face her father’s wrath by refusing. She still had fond memories of being childhood friends with Edward, and she knew him to have grown up into an exceptionally handsome man, who was intelligent, hardworking, honest and decent to boot. All women had to marry where their fathers ordered them, and she knew that plenty of women had it far worse than she did.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t seem to suppress her anxiety about this wedding. It was true the two of them had been childhood friends, but they had barely seen each other over the last few years. Edward had gone from Eton straight to Oxford, and, despite being still in his early twenties, he had gained a place as Sir Robert’s Private Secretary almost as soon as he joined the Tories. He worked so hard that she felt she had not even seen much of him while he was courting her - and, as etiquette dictated, they had been constantly chaperoned, making their interactions seem somewhat stiff, awkward and artificial.

Not since she was a child had she been permitted to spend time alone with any male who was not related to her, and she wasn’t quite sure how to interact with a fiance, much less a husband. Yes, she and Edward Drummond had been close friends when they were young. But still she had been lying awake because, despite the fact they would be husband and wife in mere weeks, sharing a house, a name, and a life, she was terrified that they didn’t actually even know each other anymore.

Florence was jolted out of her reverie by the sound of the door opening behind her. She glanced around; it was Thompson, the butler, bringing the family’s letters to them over breakfast. Her father finally stopped droning on about Charles Drummond as Thompson handed him his usual large pile of tedious-looking letters. He sighed and began to shuffle through them.

There was only one letter for Florence, but she smiled as she recognised the neat cursive of her old friend, Wilhemina Coke. She reached out to take it with a murmured word of thanks, and opened it with interest, noting that it was dated a few days past. It had been a little while since Wilhemina had written, but she was intrigued to hear her news; she remembered how excited her sweet friend had been to gain a place at the Queen’s court, although she had been somewhat less thrilled at the prospect of having her sharp-tongued aunt as a chaperone. She scanned the letter, smiling at Wilhemina’s recounting of her formidable aunt having met her match in the young Queen, and noting how frequently and fondly her friend mentioned a kind and charming man named Lord Alfred Paget - apparently, one of the many sons of the Marquess of Anglesey, legendary and scandalous veteran of Waterloo.

She noticed suddenly that her own fiance’s name also seemed to appear quite frequently. Of course she knew Wilhemina knew of him, but she hadn’t been aware that the two of them had come into contact significantly.

She frowned slightly, focusing more closely on the section about Edward.

She froze, staring at the words on the page.

Surely, her friend must be mistaken? This man was to be her husband; surely, he would have told her that himself? Her hand shaking slightly, she felt a flush of embarrassment creep across her face - since when was her friend better informed about her fiance than she was?

 “What is it, girl?” her father suddenly barked at her, making her jump. “You’re shaking - one of your little friends writing to you about those ridiculous penny dreadfuls? You ladies have nerves of steel, I must say!” He chuckled to himself.

“No, Father," she said quickly, making to put the letter away. “It’s nothing like that. Miss Coke simply had some news about Edward which took me slightly by surprise.”

 “News? What ‘news’ could that little mouse possibly have about _my_ future son-in-law that I don’t have?” He stared at her, one eyebrow raised.

Already bewildered and stressed by Wilhemina’s letter, Florence felt the familiar feeling of fear rising in her chest, an early warning sign of her father’s rage. “Father, I do not believe it is anything important, I….”

“Give that letter here, my girl," the Marquess said in a quiet, deadly voice. “Now.”

Florence hesitated and then, recognising that she had no choice, reluctantly handed over the letter. Her heart thudding painfully, she watched as he scanned the letter, his face becoming purple with fury, his hands balling into fists.

“Drummond came up to Scotland with the court? And he did not secure you an invitation? Did not write to say he would come and call on us - did not, in fact, even bother to let any of us know he was in the country? Doesn’t he understand he is about to become a member of this family?”

“Father, please,” Florence tried. She didn’t know what was going on with Edward, but she had an overwhelming instinct to protect him from her father. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. Perhaps he knew he wouldn’t have time to visit because Sir Robert would need him immediately back in London, so he thought it pointless to write! Besides, the letter is dated a few days past - perhaps Wilhemina misunderstood or had the wrong information, perhaps he couldn’t come to Scotland after all?”

But her father gave no sign that he had even heard her. “And why is it that Miss Coke seems to know so much about Drummond, all of a sudden? What’s that little wench doing, crowing to you about your own fiance? I swear, if that insolent upstart of a boy has been playing us false…”

“No...Father…” Florence glanced desperately at her mother, silently appealing for help, but Caroline Kerr determinedly avoided her daughter’s gaze. Many years of marriage had taught her it was easier and safer to bite her tongue and keep a low profile when he was in such a mood. 

“Thompson!” the Marquess barked.

“My Lord?”

“Fetch me some new ink, and order me a carriage immediately. I have a letter to dispatch, and a visit to pay in London.”

***

_Three Days Later_

Back in his London house, Edward couldn’t quite believe he had only been in Scotland for a few short days. He felt that _everything_ had changed since he last stood here. To think that he had practically begged Sir Robert to send somebody else in his place, so desperate had he been to avoid Alfred! He had been so sure that whatever was between them was over before it had begun, and he had almost managed to resign himself to his wedding. Believing it was hopeless to dream of a future with the other man, he had been convinced that a forced trip with Alfred would be an absolute nightmare.

He had certainly not expected to arrive back in London feeling more blissful than he’d ever been in his life. He was unable to wipe the grin off his face as he remembered the feel of Alfred’s warm skin, his soft lips. Just the memory of what Alfred’s tongue could do to him sent a delicious shiver down his spine.

He would never have imagined that he would come back from Scotland knowing how safe and peaceful it felt to sleep with Alfred in his arms, hands intertwined.

He had left for Scotland, telling himself to stay away from Alfred as much as possible. Now he had returned, he was determined not to give him up for anything. He knew now what it was to have Alfred in his arms, to wake up next to him - how could he ever throw that away to marry Florence? Besides, he was already feeling the guilt starting to pull at him. Florence did not know what had already happened between him and Alfred - and of course, he could hardly tell her - but he felt that he _must_ release her from an engagement that was not fair on either of them. Surely, it was not right to do otherwise, and make her unknowingly live a lie?

His heart was pounding almost painfully. Was he really going to do this? Break off the engagement? Tell Alfred that he loved him and was not prepared to live without him?

Was he really brave enough?

He paced up and down his drawing room, struggling to decide on a course of action. As his grandfather clock struck the hour, he cursed to himself. On top of everything, he was now running late for a session at the House. He sighed. He had only narrowly avoided letting Sir Robert down in Scotland, it would not do to disappoint him now!

He turned to the door, but it opened before he could get to it. He frowned, somewhat puzzled, to see his butler, Mr Gerson, bowing and looking distinctly awkward. “My apologies for the interruption, Mr Drummond, sir, but you have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Edward repeated, bewildered. “But nobody has left their calling card or given me any notice, Gerson! And besides, I cannot receive anyone now, I am due at the House…”

He trailed off, eyes widening, as his father Charles Drummond barged into the room, without waiting for Gerson to announce him, his eyes blazing in fury. Edward looked desperately at Gerson for help, who looked blankly back at him.

“Sit down, Edward,” Charles demanded.

“Father, I’m….I’m late for work and -”

“It was not a request. Sit down, boy. _Now._ ”

Reluctantly, he sat down, heart hammering. It did not appear he had much choice. His father had never called on him unannounced like this before. What on earth was going on?

Reaching into his breast pocket, Charles pulled out a letter and placed it down on the table. Edward stared at him blankly.

“I’ve just received this most _intriguing_ letter from your future father-in-law. And it’s all about you. So. Let’s talk, shall we, my boy?”

***

At the Palace, Alfred had to admit that he was not exactly listening to Victoria as she gushed about her Scottish adventure, so much as he was fantasising about Edward Drummond.

He had never dared dream that Edward would reciprocate his affections so completely. He would never have imagined he would return from Scotland knowing the taste of Edward’s lips, the thrill of Edward’s hard chest pressed against his own, Edward’s smooth skin under his hands. He knew now how it felt to have Edward cup his face in his hands, looking at him as though there was nothing and nobody more precious in the universe. He knew how it felt to fall asleep wrapped tightly in Edward’s strong arms, safer and warmer than he had ever been in his life.

The ride back to London had seemed interminable, of course. If he had thought it was a struggle to hide his desire for Edward before, it was nothing to how he felt being wedged against him in a cramped carriage for hours upon hours, vivid memories of the feel of the other man’s hands and lips flashing through his mind so that he almost moaned aloud. Every time Edward had even slightly or accidentally brushed against him as the carriage jostled them along the uneven roads, he had felt his skin burning with want, and he had had to wrestle down the urge to straddle him.

It would have been fine if the two of them had had a carriage to themselves - much more than fine, in fact - but, of course, as their luck would have it, they had been confined with the Duchess and Miss Coke as their companions. The Duchess had managed to keep ranting about the incompetence of the Duke and everyone else for seemingly the entire journey back to London, while Miss Coke seemed to be constantly shooting them furtive glances and then looking hastily away, her face bright red.

But now he was back in London, back at the palace, and Edward - he presumed - was at Parliament, it was harder to convince himself that it had not all been a glorious dream. All of a sudden, they were back to their normal lives, as though Scotland had been nothing but a brief interlude. To the outside world, nothing had changed - he was still fulfilling his palace duties as Her Majesty’s Equerry, and Edward was still slaving away to help Peel prepare for the coming vote on the Corn Laws. And, of course - his stomach churned sickeningly at the thought - Edward was still engaged to Florence Kerr.

Only the two of them knew that everything had changed. Alfred did not have any idea what they were going to do now they were back, with Edward’s dreaded wedding day racing towards them.

All he knew was that he loved Edward Drummond more than anything in the world, and he needed him to be safe and happy.

Alfred’s thoughts were interrupted as he suddenly sensed somebody hovering behind him. He turned to see the Queen’s pageboy, Brodie.

Victoria sighed. “What is it, Brodie?”

Brodie bowed deeply, blushing a deep red as he always did whenever the Queen addressed him directly. He looked distinctly awkward, even more so than usual. “Begging your pardon, ma’am….the Marquess of Lothian has arrived. He is waiting to be received.”

Victoria frowned, puzzled, as Alfred’s heart started to beat uncomfortably fast. He knew the Marquess of Lothian was Edward’s father-in-law to-be; he was the man Edward had been meeting with on the day he first told Alfred of his engagement. But he had never made a habit of visiting Buckingham Palace, and he certainly couldn’t claim to be a friend of Her Majesty’s - in fact, Alfred knew for a fact that Victoria could hardly stand the infamously haughty and aggressive man.

So what on earth was he doing turning up at the Palace, completely unannounced?

“The Marquess of Lothian?” Victoria repeated, distaste clear in her tone. “But he sent me no notice that he was coming. What does he want?”

“I’m...I’m not sure, ma’am,” Brodie responded apologetically. “He just told me to fetch somebody who could tell him what was going on. He seemed most agitated, ma’am, he says he is not in the mood to be kept waiting.”

Alfred tried to keep his breathing steady and his expression neutral, as Victoria sighed once more. “Well, I certainly have no inclination to speak to that insufferable man! Lord Alfred? I feel sure you can handle this with more grace and charm than I would be capable of. I would be most grateful if you could speak to him and find out what it is the wretched man wants - and then hopefully he will leave us in peace sooner rather than later.”

Alfred groaned internally. As the Queen’s Equerry, dealing with troublesome guests was one of his duties. He was usually very good at smoothing over uncomfortable situations - but he had a nasty feeling that the Marquess of Lothian would prove more of a challenge. Sighing, he stood up and bowed his head to Victoria. “I will do my best, ma’am.”

He tried to force a courteous smile onto his face as he walked out to greet the Marquess.

Built like a stocky and aggressive bulldog, ruddy-faced from a combination of perpetual anger and, Alfred assumed, an excess of wine, the Marquess of Lothian turned and glared at him.

Alfred struggled to keep smiling, and bowed as minimally as he possibly could. He knew the Marquess liked to think of himself as superior to everyone else, but Alfred was perfectly aware that, as the son of Henry Paget, Marquess of Anglesey, his own rank was no lower than this insufferable man’s. He certainly wasn’t going to pander to him if he could help it. 

“Lord Alfred Paget, at your service,” he said smoothly, putting an extra stress on his family name - this man would know who his father was. “I must confess Her Majesty was somewhat surprised by your visit, Your Grace. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“It is not _Her Majesty_ I have come to see, Paget,” the Marquess responded, speaking of the Queen in the same disdainful tone Alfred had heard many of the old king’s courtiers use, when Victoria had first come to her throne. “I am here to speak to my _dear esteemed_ son-in-law to-be, Drummond,” he continued, his voice dripping with malicious sarcasm.

Alfred’s heart leapt into his throat. What could this man have heard, that would make him storm into the palace, looking for Edward? Surely….he didn’t _know_? “Drummond, Your Grace?” he responded, struggling to keep his voice steady and wondering if he could stall for time.

“I would warn you not to play games with me, _Lord_ Alfred,” the Marquess responded in a low growl. “I think you will find that I am not in the mood. I will not repeat myself again, so listen very carefully: I need to speak to Edward Drummond. Now.”

“With all due respect, Your Grace,” Alfred answered, trying to think clearly past the whirl of panic in his brain, “I cannot be of much assistance. Mr. Drummond is not currently at the Palace. I suspect you may have better luck reaching him at the House of Parliament; Sir Robert has been keeping him very busy there.”

“Drummond is _not_ at Parliament,” the Marquess snarled in frustration. “As I am fully aware, having just come from the House, Lord Alfred. I was greeted by some young fool of a page boy who was sent to meet me. The little fool did not seem to have a clue about anything; he told me Drummond was not at the House, and suggested that I would most likely find him at the Palace as he is frequently sent here to deliver things to Her Majesty. I do not have unlimited leisure time to go gallivanting around after Drummond. Tell me, truthfully - is he here?”

Alfred was finding it harder to stay calm by the minute. He did not know what this man knew or what he was going to say or do to Edward - and what was more, he could not think why Edward would be missing from the House.

“I can assure you, Your Grace, Mr Drummond is absolutely not here at the Palace.”

The Marquess cursed under his breath and balled his hands into fists.

“Is there any message you would like me to pass on next time Mr Drummond is here, Your Grace?”

Alfred thought it would be prudent to at least try to appease the man before he left, but he also desperately needed to know what it was the Marquess needed to tell Edward so urgently.

“I have had _quite_ enough of chasing after that insolent boy,” Lothian muttered, more to himself than to Alfred, it seemed. “He’s lucky his father is so rich, is all I can say.”

He fixed his imperious gaze on Alfred again. “You want to deliver a message to Drummond, boy? You can tell him that perhaps he should do a better job of keeping his own future family informed of his whereabouts. He may think he is too important or busy to spare time for us while he is in Scotland, or even to write and let us know he is in the country, but you can deliver this message to him - his father-in-law will _not_ be made a fool of.”

Alfred swallowed, trying to keep his expression perfectly neutral.

“If my _dear_ future son-in-law keeps ‘forgetting’ to keep me informed of where he is and what he is doing, then I might be forced to assume that he is hiding something from me. But, mark my words, _nobody_ keeps secrets from me.”

Alfred blanched, his blood pounding in his ears.

“You tell him that from me, Paget,” the Marquess barked, “and tell him to consider it a warning. And don’t bother sending that damned page boy back to show me out,” he added. “I don’t want to die of old age before I reach the front door.”

And, with one final look of disgust, he turned on his heel and swept out. Shaking, Alfred sank down into the nearest chair before his knees could give way.

Of course he had known that nothing would be easy for them once they were back in London. He understood that he and Edward would never be able to predict when they could be together, he understood that it was unlikely Edward would be able to free himself from his engagement. He had even resigned himself to the fact that, even if Edward continued to make time for him in his life, he was likely to be in pain more often than not. He had prepared himself for all of that.

He had thought he had prepared himself for everything.

What he had _not_ prepared himself for was Edward being threatened, Edward being in danger.

He was pretty certain that the Marquess had not been bluffing; he really did think Edward was hiding something from him. Thank god, thank _god_ , it appeared he did not actually know _what_ Edward’s secret was. But if he was already this furious merely about the fact that Edward had neglected to tell Florence he was in Scotland or pay a visit to Monteviot - what would happen if he stayed true to his word, and dug up Edward’s _true_ secret?

Of course, Lothian could very easily ruin Edward financially, smear his name in mud and ensure that he would never again be able to enter Parliament - but Alfred was suddenly imagining worse, much worse.

Terrifying images flashed through his head. Edward, emaciated and hopeless, growing old inside a gaol cell. Edward vanishing into the distance on a ship bound for Australia, in chains, never to return. And then - Alfred cried out aloud, and quickly pressed a shaking hand against his mouth, trying to stifle heaving sobs - the worst image of all, an image of his beautiful Edward, swinging eerily from the gallows.

He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t strong enough. Somehow, he was going to have to sever ties with the man he loved.Knowing Edward’s nature, though, he was probably going to fight. He was headstrong and passionate, he would probably tell Alfred that they could defeat the Marquess, as long as they were together.

How could he persuade the other man not to fight him on this?

Oh god, he was going to have to be cruel. He was going to have to lie.

He was beginning to hate himself already. But Alfred knew that he could not risk Edward’s safety. Not for anything. 

***

“Do you honestly not understand the trouble you have caused, boy?!” Charles Drummond thundered, pacing up and down in front of Edward.  

“Why on _earth_ would you neglect to mention to your own fiance, or to her father, that you were in Scotland? Why wouldn’t you call on them in Monteviot, why would you just return to London without even a word to Lothian? Have you completely lost your grip on common courtesy, as well as losing your grip on your sanity? Don’t you realise how this _looks_ , boy?!”

Edward sighed. It had indeed been stupid of him to forget about writing to Florence, to neglect to visit. Peel had mentioned that the opportunity to visit his fiance would be one of the benefits of going to Scotland with the court, he vaguely recalled. But the truth was, he had been extremely distracted, both before he left and while he was there; first he had been agonising about staying away from Alfred, and then those terrible hours when the queen and prince were missing and everything had been hanging in the balance. And then, of course, that final, wonderful night with Alfred, the happiest night of his life….

It was safe to say that visiting Florence and her father at Monteviot had not been the first thing on his mind.

He had the feeling his father might think such excuses feeble. But, all of a sudden, Charles Drummond’s opinion didn’t seem to matter very much to him anymore, nor the wretched Marquess’s. He was truly sorry to have offended Florence, if he had. He would have to send a letter to her at some point to apologise, and, as he felt another uncomfortable twinge of guilt, he resolved to meet up with her and explain - at least, explain everything he could without endangering Alfred.

Because that night in Scotland had taught him that he would not, could not, give Alfred up. He didn’t know exactly how, but somehow, he was going to get out of this wedding.

Not that he was going to tell his father that. The last time he had asked for Charles’s help, it had resulted in nothing but despair and self-loathing. He was heartily sick of allowing his father to control him. His heart soared every time he remembered the look of adoration and love in Alfred’s eyes on that last night in Scotland. If he had Alfred’s love, he could get through anything. Looking back into Charles’ cold grey eyes, he felt a thrill go through him at the thought that his father would not be able to stop him until it was too late.

As he opened his mouth to speak, the door flew open, making both he and his father jump. There in the doorway, out of breath and wheezing slightly, although still glaring ferociously, was Florence’s father, the Marquess of Lothian.

 _Wonderful_ , Edward thought to himself sardonically.

 _“T_ _here_ you are, boy! I’ve been gallivanting all over the place looking for you! Why aren’t you at the House where you should be?”

Edward opened his mouth to answer, but his father got there first. “I kept him here to talk to him, Lothian.”

“Oh, I see - the two of you trying to scheme together behind my back, now, are you?”

“As a matter of fact, Lothian,” Charles responded coolly, “I received your letter, and I came here as soon as I could to try and talk some sense into my son.”

The Marquess grunted and came to stand beside Charles. “Well, lad? What do you have to say for yourself?”

Both men stood with their arms folded, glaring and looming over Edward. Although he knew they were trying their hardest to intimidate him, Edward felt his blood begin to boil at the Marquess’s insults. How _dare_ this man burst into his home like this, without any warning, calling him ‘boy’ and accusing him of scheming? Contrary to what he might believe, he did not control everything - _and he certainly doesn’t control me_ , Edward thought with a flare of satisfaction.

He wasn’t going to be dominated by this man, any more than he was going to be dominated by his own father.

“I apologise for my oversight in failing to mention that I was in Scotland, Your Grace,” he said smoothly to Lothian. “It was exceedingly foolish and discourteous of me.”

“You’re damned right it was!” Lothian barked back at him, as Charles silently seethed next to him.

“I can only say that I was feeling immensely overwhelmed by our preparations for the upcoming vote on the Corn Laws, Your Grace. I was not convinced I could spare the time to go to Scotland with the court for even a few days, but Sir Robert was most insistent.”

That was at least partially true, Edward reflected, and it certainly tallied with what Peel would say if Lothian were to speak to him.

“I would have written once I was in Blair Atholl, but we were only there for a few short days, and much of the trip was exceptionally stressful, as Her Majesty and His Highness went astray for many hours. We had search parties out looking for them.”

He had spent so many anxious hours waiting to hear if Victoria and Albert were safe that it seemed to him like an incident that everybody knew about - but the shock on both mens’ faces reminded him that this was not actually widely known news. Cursing himself, he hastened to reassure them. “Please, do not be alarmed - we were most anxious at the time, but the Queen and Prince were absolutely fine and happy, and indeed enjoyed their night of quiet privacy. Nevertheless, those hours were certainly not pleasant for the rest of us as we waited for news, and I must confess all others thoughts flew out of my head, save for ensuring the safety of Her Majesty and His Highness. We found them safe and sound on the morning before the court was to head back to London, and at that point we were all lightheaded with relief, as well as lack of sleep.”

His father and the Marquess were still glaring at him, but they no longer looked quite as suspicious. They merely looked extremely irritated. “I have heard that Miss Coke sent a letter to Florence, but I believe she must have sent it before we even arrived in the country, Your Grace,” he continued. “I am sure she was not attempting to cause any trouble by sending that letter, but simply made an error in judgement, as I did myself."

"Let me heartily apologise once more for my foolish oversight, Your Grace. I am sincerely sorry if I have caused Florence any grief or confusion, and I shall send a letter of apology to her directly. You may rest assured that I will not make the same mistake a second time.” He met the Marquess’s cold eyes, watching as the other man’s face relaxed a little more, and internally congratulating himself for managing to defuse the situation somewhat, without actually confirming any plans to continue with the wedding.

“These are your excuses, are they?” Lothian demanded.

“These are my explanations, Sir,” he responded quietly, refusing to be cowed. “I am sorry if you find them inadequate, but I assure you I speak the truth.”

There was a tense silence as Lothian scanned his face, clearly searching for any hint of a lie. Even Charles looked uneasy. Edward, though, looked straight back at him without flinching.

Finally, Lothian sighed, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “It seems that our family - soon to be your family - is not currently your first priority, as it should be,” he said shortly. “I cannot pretend I think much of your excuses, Drummond, nor can I pretend I like you in the slightest. Unfortunately, I am also fully aware of how useful your family’s wealth will be to me - recent though it may be,” he added, with a malicious aside glance at Charles. "But if you ever again cause _any_ trouble for me, or for this family, I can assure you that I will not be quite so lenient. I can make life _very_ difficult for you if I choose to, Drummond - do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly clear, _Your Grace_ ,” Edward responded, meeting Lothian’s eyes and injecting as much sarcasm into the seemingly respectful address as he dared.

“If you are going to become a member of this family, Drummond, then I suggest you start behaving like it,” Lothian snarled - it seemed Edward’s sarcastic tone had not gone unnoticed. “Now, if you _will_ excuse me, I am a very busy man, and I must be getting back,” he said curtly. “And as for you, sir,” he growled, turning to address Charles, “I sincerely hope that you will make more of an effort to control your son in the future.”

Edward darted a glance at his father, who looked as though he was about to growl something back, but thought better of it, and instead merely nodded, his jaw tightly clenched.

Shooting one last look of loathing at Edward, the Marquess stormed out, past Gerson the butler who was hovering awkwardly in the corner, unsure of the protocol. Edward heard the front door slam. 

His father turned back to him. “I can scarcely believe what an idiot you have been, Edward,” Charles muttered, resentment and exhaustion in his tone. It seemed he had not appreciated the Marquess’s impromptu visit any more than Edward had. “It seems you have been lucky this time - he is clearly furious, and rightly so, but the consequences of your foolish actions could have been much worse.”

Charles paused, sweeping his cold grey gaze over Edward. “You have not forgotten what we discussed before you went to Scotland, I trust?”

“Believe me, sir,” Edward responded coolly, another thrill of heady courage rushing through him as he realised his father could no longer scare him, “I remember it well.”

“I am glad of that, at least,” said Charles. “I must be going, too. Make sure you let Sir Robert know why you were not at the House - that is, if you can remember to write,” he said sarcastically.

Edward gritted his teeth, struggling to look sheepish.

“I dare say we have seen quite enough of each other recently, my boy,” Charles said bitterly. “I cannot say I have the slightest desire to be continuously humiliated by my son, so I sincerely hope this will be the last time we have to speak to each other in a while.”

Once more, Edward felt no fear, but instead a hot flare of anger. “I should not worry on that account, sir,” he responded, the blood pounding in his ears. “For it seems we have nothing left to say to one another.”

Charles glared at him. “I shall see you at the wedding,” he said, before striding out of the room and slamming the front door behind him, just as the Marquess had done.

Edward smiled to himself. “Do you know something, Father?” he murmured. “I’m really not sure you will.”

He knew he was being reckless, utterly ridiculous in fact. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. His heart was fluttering and his head was spinning.

His father and Lothian had tried their hardest to intimidate and belittle him, make him feel afraid. Instead, he felt bolder and more free than he ever had before. He was tempted to laugh out loud at the irony; the more the two men threatened and insulted him, trying to bend him to their will, the less guilt he felt about defying them. He felt as though a cold hand had been pressing down heavily on his spine, and had now lifted, releasing him.

It wasn’t as though he had a clear plan. He did not know exactly what he was going to do; the only thing he felt sure of at the moment was that he could not, would not, marry Florence. It would not be fair on either of them, not when he was so hopelessly in love with someone else. He would have to find some way to tell her, he thought, wincing slightly. That was sure to be an uncomfortable conversation.

But that worry was completely overshadowed by his excitement at the thought of telling Alfred.

He was really going to do this, he thought, his heart thumping wildly, a grin breaking out on his face. He was going to arrange a meeting with Alfred, as soon as possible, and tell him that he was going to call off his wedding, regardless of the risks and the threats, all for love of him. Edward refused to live without Alfred, and he could not wait to see his face when he told him so.

He practically flew across the drawing room to his writing desk, laid out some paper and dipped his quill in the inkwell. His hand sped across the page without any conscious thought or effort. 

_Alfred,_

_I know we have only just returned from Scotland, but it already seems an age since I have seen you._

_I am most eager to have your company again, and, although I know we have only just parted, there is much that I wish to tell you._

_If you are available, I should very much like to dine with you tomorrow night, at 7.30. I shall leave the dining place up to your discretion._

_I can hardly wait to see you._  

_Yours,_

_Edward_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, you guessed it - we'll be diving straight into (my version) of 2x08 next chapter! See you there!
> 
> And once again, a massive thank you to everybody who's been leaving comments and kudos - you're all keeping me inspired to write this! <3 <3 xxx


	7. Gunshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward has a plan to meet Alfred for dinner, but things don't go entirely according to plan...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is loong, and it might be a bit of a rollercoaster ride of angst. Sorry, I had to, it's 2x08!  
> I promise, this is the very last chapter that will be sticking to canon. It might not be all fluff and bunnies from here on in, but I solemnly swear that these beautiful boys will not be miserable forever!

Alfred stared blankly at his own reflection in the mirror as he tied his cravat, his hands shaking slightly. His heart was hammering painfully, and he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat.

He did not quite know how he was going to face the evening ahead.

Edward had sent him a letter inviting him to dinner. The letter was full of such warmth, excitement and happiness that reading it was almost like being back in Edward’s embrace. Alfred had sent a note back immediately, suggesting that they meet at a restaurant he frequented regularly, Ciros. Only yesterday, he would have been giddy with excitement at the prospect of seeing his beautiful Edward again, especially after he had sent such a letter.

But after that visit from the Marquess….

If he himself had been threatened by that disgusting man, that would have been one matter. That, he could have handled.

But it was Edward, not he, who was being threatened, Edward who was in danger.

He felt a cold crawling sensation all the way down his spine when he remembered Lothian’s words. _Nobody keeps secrets from me. You tell him that, and tell him to consider it a warning._ Of course, there was the possibility that the Marquess’s threats had been completely hollow. But this was Edward Drummond he was talking about - and Alfred simply was not prepared to take the risk that Lothian had been bluffing.

Edward had sounded so happy in his letter, so passionate and impulsive - the note had only reminded Alfred all over again of all the reasons he had fallen in love with the man in the first place.

As he stared at himself in the mirror, he felt sick to his stomach, hating himself for what he was about to do. He could not see that he had any other choice. Edward, headstrong and honest as he was, was a terrible liar. The only way to keep him fully safe from Lothian’s suspicions, as far as Alfred could see, was to make him truly believe that whatever had been between the two of them was over.

Oh god, but was he really strong enough to do this?! His stomach twisted and writhed in shame as he imagined seeing the hurt and betrayal in Edward’s gorgeous dark eyes. He closed his eyes, trying to push that image away, wanting to stroke Edward’s face and hold him in his arms, to shield him from the pain even before he caused it.

He couldn’t face this, he couldn’t do it - perhaps he should send a note now with some excuse, he could put this off??

No. He had to do this. It was unbearable to think of hurting Edward like this - but he knew it was nothing to what Lothian might do to him. Of course he wanted Edward to be happy and safe, but if that was impossible, then he would have to settle for just the latter.

Focusing on his breathing, trying to calm himself, he finally turned away from the mirror. He paused at the door to steel himself, trying to assume his usual relaxed and vaguely amused facial expression. Finally, he inhaled and turned the handle.

As he strolled down the corridor, attempting to seem nonchalant, struggling against the urge to turn and flee back towards his room, he noticed Miss Coke, who was sitting alone, absorbed in a book. As he got closer, he realised she was reading the Bible.

She looked up as he approached, and smiled at him in greeting.

Alfred tried not to sigh. “Is that the Bible, Miss Coke?” he asked, attempting to sound gently teasing. “On a Wednesday?”

She smiled shyly. “I was just reading about David and Jonathan,” she explained.

He nodded, feeling a little puzzled. The characters' relationship was very similar to that of Achilles and Patroclus. Out of all the stories in the Bible, it seemed a strange one for Miss Coke to choose.

“When Jonathan dies,” she continued, “David says he loves him - with a love surpassing women. I never knew that the Bible could be so…tender.”

Although he usually prided himself on his witty repartee, he found that he could not think of a response to this comment. He simply stared at her, struggling to keep smiling mildly. She sounded just as kind as ever, not as though she was accusing him of anything. And yet, there was something in her tone, and the way her eyes widened, as though she was trying to communicate something else with those words, that made a shiver of unease go down his spine.

She broke the silence, as though she had not really been expecting him to respond, but had only wanted to tell him something. “You look smart, are you going out for dinner?”

Alfred sensed that Miss Coke realised she had made him uncomfortable, and was trying to change the topic to ease his tension. “Yes, I am,” he responded, unwilling to divulge anything further.

She looked at him curiously for a second, and then gave him a warm and genuine smile. “I hope you enjoy yourself,” she said kindly. He could tell she was not going to press him for any more information, and he smiled at her gratefully. “Thank you, Miss Coke,” he answered. He bowed his head slightly, and, feeling that the conversation had reached a natural conclusion somehow, he continued along the corridor.

He wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, he reflected as he forced himself to get into the carriage, giving the driver an instruction to head to Ciros. Somehow, though, he had a strong feeling that Miss Coke had been trying to declare herself as his friend and ally, if he needed her.

Given the circumstances, this was not much - but, as he headed towards this dinner which he knew would turn into a nightmare, he did feel just a tiny bit lighter.

***

Edward wasn’t there yet when Alfred arrived at Ciros, which seemed to him a small mercy. As the waiter led him to a table in the middle of the dimly lit, grandiose dining room, he could feel that his heart was starting to pound uncomfortably fast again.

Edward had said in his note that there was ‘much he wished to tell him’. Alfred wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but where only yesterday his heart would have been fluttering in excitement, now he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear it, whatever it was.

How was he supposed to push Edward away, what if he came in with those dark eyes bright and laughing, that gorgeous boyish grin already lighting up his face?

 _Oh god_ , Alfred thought. He couldn’t do this, he wasn’t ready, he didn’t know what to say! He suddenly noticed that he was squeezing the fork in front of him so tightly that it was starting to cut into his hand; a passing waiter was giving him a strange look. He released his grip, dimly wondering if this was what it felt like to have a panic attack.

Then, without warning, he felt a warm, gentle hand on his shoulder. The immediate spark of electricity that jolted through his skin, the molten desire pooling in his stomach, told him instantly who it was even before that familiar deep and melodic voice spoke in his ear, sounding happier and more carefree than Alfred had ever heard it.

“My apologies.”

Alfred tried to hold in a sigh as Edward sat down opposite him. It was worse than he’d been imagining. His skin was still tingling where the other man had touched him, even though his touch had been so gentle and brief, and he wasn’t sure he could ever remember Edward beaming so brightly, his warm brown eyes sparkling with happiness.

“The Corn Laws debate will go on for days,” Edward said brightly - Alfred assumed this was his explanation for his lateness. The stress of the last twenty-four hours had made him almost forget how soon the vote on the Corn Laws was coming up - it was happening sometime in the next few days, if he was not mistaken. Edward must be ridiculously busy at the moment, and yet he was still taking time out to have dinner with him, looking tired but more joyful than Alfred had ever seen him. Alfred felt another sharp twinge of guilt in his stomach. “The sleeping beauties on our back benches have woken up,” Edward continued, “and they aren’t happy.”

He grinned mischievously, with his usual glee at defying old and crusty men, and Alfred couldn’t help but grin back in spite of himself. He knew Edward’s job often made him somewhat exhausted and stressed, but he adored seeing his passion and enthusiasm when he was fighting for a cause he truly believed in. “I know, my father and his friends think repeal will be the end of civilisation as we know it,” he responded. He was rather eager to stay on this topic for as long as possible.

“With respect,” Edward answered teasingly, glancing at him in a way which belied the formal dignity of his words and sent a shiver down Alfred’s spine, “the days when men like your father will rule this country are coming to an end!”

“Well,” said Alfred, smiling as he thought of his wonderfully eccentric and courageous father Henry Paget, and how much he would admire Edward’s nerve, “poor Papa.”

Edward grinned again. “But let’s not talk about politics,” he said.

Alfred was about to press the topic further, trying to postpone the moment he would have to hurt Edward as long as possible.

But as he looked back at the other man, his train of thought seemed to completely vanish. The way Edward was looking at him, from underneath his eyelashes, his dark eyes smouldering as though he was vividly remembering their last night in Scotland…

His mind seemed to have gone completely blank as a wave of molten desire washed over him, and without even thinking, without taking his eyes from Edward’s face, he raised a hand to signal a passing waiter.

“Oysters and champagne,” he ordered.

The waiter nodded as Edward grinned at him slyly. Alfred froze and cursed himself, as the speech he had been rehearsing came rushing back.

What on earth was he doing?? One sultry glance from Edward and he was already insinuating that he wanted to pick up where they had left off in Scotland?! He was here only to ensure Edward’s safety, and that could only be guaranteed if they stayed far away from each other.

 _Wonderful work_ , he sneered at himself. _It seems you’re determined to cause as much damage as you possibly can tonight._

“There’s something I must tell you,” Edward said, breaking the silence. He sounded excited yet nervous, as though he was not quite sure how he was going to phrase this.

Alfred steeled himself. Edward was clearly about to confess something, and he knew he would not be strong enough to do what he must if he let himself hear it.

It seemed he was out of time.

He sighed, and carefully composed his face into the neutral and polite mask he wore around the court. “You’ve set a date, haven’t you?”, he asked, determined to steer the conversation towards less intimate and dangerous territory. “For your wedding.”

Edward inhaled, as though he was summoning his courage, and then fixed his gaze back on Alfred’s, his dark eyes gleaming with excitement. “I’ve decided to break off the engagement,” he declared.

Alfred felt his heart turn over in his chest. This beautiful, crazy man really was willing to risk…. _everything._ For him.

God, what had he ever done in his life to deserve Edward Drummond?

He looked down at the table for a second, gathering himself. After so long as a courtier, he was a far better liar and dissembler than Edward. He knew how useful this was about to be, and he hated himself for it. _It’s for him_ , he reminded himself firmly, before he could lose his resolve. _This is only to protect him._

He looked back at Edward, quirking one eyebrow. “Why?” he asked coolly. “She seems a perfectly admirable wife for a man with prospects.” He winced at the cold formality in his own voice, and tried not to recoil from the shock in Edward’s eyes as his face fell.

He watched as Edward struggled to mask his hurt, smiling at Alfred from under his eyelashes again. Alfred could tell that this time, the smile was somewhat forced. “I think you, of all people, must understand why it _cannot_ be,” Edward said quietly, looking at Alfred as though willing him to understand.

He felt his heart begin to flutter again at Edward’s words, heat spreading through him from that _look_ Edward was giving him. He quickly flicked his gaze away, picking up his champagne glass and taking a sip as though Edward’s words did not much matter to him. Little would Edward know that Alfred _had_ to avert his eyes, just to make sure he didn’t completely abandon everything he had planned to say, seize him by his cravat and kiss him fiercely in front of the entire restaurant.

“ _Cannot_ be?”, he scoffed, hating himself more with each passing second. “How dramatic you are, Drummond.” He knew that addressing Edward by his last name like this would make him seem all the more distant - and that was the idea, he reminded himself sternly. But he had not been quite prepared for how profoundly _wrong_ it would feel to address him in such a way, so formally, so coolly, after everything they had been through.

Setting his champagne flute down again, he barely restrained himself from visibly flinching as he raised his gaze to Edward’s face again. As ever, the emotion in his dark eyes was easy to read, but the warm excitement and joy which had been so clear only moments ago had vanished. Now, all Alfred could read there was bewilderment, doubt, naked vulnerability….and hurt. Above all else, hurt.

Curious, he thought as a dull, throbbing pain in his chest started, how literal the term ‘heartache’ appeared to be.

 _Well_ , he told himself bitterly, _you wanted to protect him by driving him away. It looks like you might just get your wish._

***

Edward stared across the candlelit table at Alfred, frozen. His brain didn’t seem to be working very fast, he couldn’t seem to process the other man’s words properly all of a sudden.

He just didn’t understand how everything could have changed so quickly.

Only a few minutes ago, he had been sitting, almost breathless with delicious anticipation, desperate to see Alfred’s beautiful smile light up his face, sapphire eyes sparkling with joy.

When he had eagerly suggested that they stop talking about politics, hoping to convey his true meaning as he gazed up at him from underneath his eyelashes, he could almost have sworn that Alfred had seemed, for a moment, quite as excited as he felt, grinning mischievously back at him and ordering them oysters and champagne.

But now, in mere seconds, everything seemed to have changed.

He had finally worked up the nerve to tell Alfred the decision he had come to, and then, scarcely able to contain his happiness, he had sat waiting for Alfred’s answering smile, the one that made him feel as though he was being bathed in sunlight. He couldn’t wait to hear that little sigh of pure contentment, the one that Alfred had made in his arms in Scotland.

What he certainly had not expected was for Alfred to frown at him, as though bewildered and disappointed, and ask him _why_ he would break off the engagement, as though the suggestion was unutterably foolish.

At first, he felt only confusion and disorientation - Alfred sounded almost like a different person, so cool and distant, almost condescending. He didn’t know what was going on, but his first wild thought was that Alfred must be trying to tease him, for some reason. Perhaps this was some strange sort of flirtatious game that Alfred found amusing? And so, he had tried to call his bluff, attempting to mask his confusion with another smile. But, to his increasing horror, that did not seem to work - Alfred seemed only to become harsher, rolling his eyes and mocking Edward for being too dramatic. And, apparently, it was ‘Drummond’ now. Not Edward.

Edward stared at Alfred, looking for that familiar affectionate warmth in his beautiful eyes. But the other man seemed reluctant even to meet his eyes now, and Edward suddenly had a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach - was Alfred _embarrassed_ by Edward’s confessions? Was he making a complete idiot of himself?

Perhaps he just wasn’t explaining himself right, he thought, perhaps Alfred was misunderstanding him somehow? He tried again, trying not to let his sudden feeling of panic overwhelm him. He _needed_ Alfred to understand how important this was, he _needed_ to see that bright, gorgeous smile again.

“After Scotland?” he said urgently. Surely, Alfred remembered how safe and warm they had felt that night as vividly, as longingly, as he did? Yet again, though, Alfred did not even meet his eyes - instead, he merely darted a wary glance around the room, as though he was more concerned about who else might be listening to Edward’s intimate tone. Reluctantly, Edward lowered his voice. “I feel it’s only right,” he murmured, willing Alfred to understand.

Alfred fixed his eyes back on the tablecloth, lapsing back into silence as the waiter came over to top up their champagne. Edward sat internally cursing the waiter. He stared past him at Alfred, who was still determinedly avoiding his eyes.

When the waiter finally left, Alfred started to speak again, still using that distant and formal tone which made him seem suddenly like a stranger. He spoke slowly, as though he was choosing his words carefully. “A successful politician needs to have a wife,” he said firmly. Edward’s heart sunk even further. He had already heard this countless times from his father - but he had never expected that he would receive the same lecture from Alfred himself. “Now, you are going to be a successful politician, Drummond,” Alfred continued, “I know it. You’re going to make a difference in the world.”

Picking up his champagne flute again, he continued speaking firmly, as though he couldn’t believe Edward needed something so simple explained to him. “You can’t throw that away for some….indiscretion.”

Edward felt a sharp stab of pain, worse than anything he could remember, and almost cried out. “An _indiscretion_?” he repeated, feeling almost as though he was choking on the bitter taste of the word. A hot, prickly feeling of humiliation was flushing across his skin.

He had scarcely been able to stop thinking of Alfred’s warmth, his scent, his lips, his eyes, since he had returned from Scotland, and had finally managed to admit to himself, after _months_ , that he was completely and utterly, head over heels in love with the man. He had come here to tell him all this, and to tell him that, if he needed to throw everything else away to be with him, then so be it, because there was absolutely nothing as important to him as Alfred Paget. After everything that had happened between them in Scotland, he had been practically soaring with happiness, believing that, somehow, his wildest hopes had come true, his love fully reciprocated.

But no, apparently not. Apparently, to Alfred, what had happened between them was, while enjoyable, ultimately nothing but a momentary lapse in his better judgement. Edward was defying his father and the Marquess of Lothian right now, risking _everything_ to be with the man he loved more than anything in the world.

But it was clear to him now that he’d had it all wrong, all along. The man he loved viewed him only as an embarrassing reminder of his mistakes, of his _indiscretion_.

Edward had never been able to mask his feelings properly, he was like an open book. That must be why Alfred was refusing to look at him properly now, he supposed; the love written all across his face, the hurt, must be making the other man feel awkward and uncomfortable.

“I can’t let you jeopardise your career,” Alfred said firmly, stern finality in his tone.

“Surely, that is for  _me_ to decide!” Edward responded, glaring back at him. He felt anger beginning to rise up in his chest; anger at himself for being such a complete and utter fool, and, for the first time in his life, anger at Alfred. Anger for raising his hopes so cruelly, making him fall in love only to reject him, and anger for speaking to him like this now, as if he was a stupid boy who didn’t understand anything.

Alfred tensed, his jaw tight, and finally met Edward’s eyes. Edward could see that he was struggling to keep his expression neutral, a courtier’s mask. “You’re not thinking clearly, Drummond,” Alfred muttered.

Edward leant away from him, feeling as though there was something sharp lodged in his chest. The room seemed to be spinning; he clenched his jaw, wondering if he was going to be sick right here. No, of course he wasn’t thinking clearly, he wanted to shout at Alfred - it was difficult to prioritise his head over his heart when he was this deeply in love. He had thought Alfred, of all people, would understand this - but it seemed he was wrong. Alfred was pragmatic, fully in control of himself, and apparently embarrassed by Edward’s recklessness and his desire for emotional intimacy.

They had kissed passionately, they had spent the night in each others’ arms. But it was clear to Edward now that, for Alfred, that had been purely based on physical attraction - he was the only one who had actually fallen in love.

He was only realising now that his father had been right - he was a complete and utter fool. How, _how_ , had he managed to misread everything so badly? He could not bear to sit here with Alfred anymore. He did not know what he was going to do; all he knew was that he needed to get out of here, now.

As a waiter approached their table, carrying the oysters that Alfred had ordered for them mere minutes ago, Edward stood up abruptly. “I find I am not hungry,” he declared shortly, trying and failing to match Alfred’s cold formality.

Tears were starting to blur his vision, and he turned away quickly, not wanting to seem even more pathetic in front of Alfred, before hurrying out of the restaurant.

Edward was barely even aware of the path he was taking or where he was going, but, in his desperation to put distance between himself and Alfred, he arrived at his own house faster than he would have thought possible.

As he slammed the door, his butler Gerson appeared in the corridor, bowing with a somewhat puzzled expression on his face. “Forgive me, sir, I have not yet prepared your evening drink; I was not expecting you home from your engagement so early. Would you like me to bring a glass up now, sir?”

“No, I....” He choked on his words. He brushed past Gerson, desperate for the privacy of his room. “Thank you, Gerson, but I do not wish to be disturbed,” he managed. He knew that his butler must have seen his bloodshot eyes, the tear tracks on his face, but he could not bring himself to care.

Finally reaching his bedchamber, he closed the door and flung himself onto his bed. He could not even summon the strength to undress. His breath was coming in sharp sobs that tore at his throat, and he curled up, willing the room to stop spinning.

He wished he could drink a potion to erase all the memories that were torturing him, to rid himself of this ache in his chest. He wished he had never even met Alfred Paget.

He supposed the only thing left to do was to marry Florence. At least now, he knew that his love for Alfred made no difference - Alfred did not love him enough to care if he married another.

He needed to write Florence a letter at some point, he remembered suddenly, apologising for his silence in Scotland. He was sure his future wife would never be able to leave her handprint on his heart, as Alfred had left his - but at least that meant she did not have the capacity to hurt him as badly as Alfred had done.

He lay there, curled into himself, sobbing until his whole chest ached with exhaustion and he felt as though there were no tears left in his body. Hoping that he might wake up tomorrow to find that he had not yet met up with Alfred at Ciros, and the whole evening had been nothing but a nightmare, he finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

***

Well, Alfred thought to himself bitterly over the next few days, at least Lothian would no longer have any reason to threaten Edward. He assumed the wedding would now go ahead as originally planned. And Edward would probably never want to see him again. He could hardly blame him.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he had managed to keep pushing Edward away so coldly, that night at Ciros, even as he watched Edward’s beautiful face crumple, saw the look of betrayal in those dark eyes. He had been _so_ tempted to reach across the table and stroke his face, to kiss the deepening frown lines away in apology.

At first he had just tried to convince Edward how impractical it was to break off his engagement, in terms of what might happen to his career, but the beautiful, headstrong man had fought back against that, as he had known he would. But he _needed_ to push Edward away, he could not think of another way to keep him safe. And so, he had told the cruellest lie he could think of. He had referred to that night in Scotland, the night when he had slept in Edward’s arms, the happiest night of his life - he had thrown it casually away as nothing but an ‘indiscretion.’ That was the word he had used. He hadn’t even been able to meet Edward’s eyes at that point, scared that Edward would read the shame and self-loathing on his face.

And then Edward had got up and left, his voice shaking slightly as he had tried to turn Alfred’s own coldness back on him.

He wasn’t sure why Edward abruptly leaving had shocked him so much; obviously, he was the one who had driven him to it. Alfred had tried to brace himself for the pain and the guilt, but it was so much worse than he could have imagined. He felt like he was drowning in it, gasping for breath. What was worse, as soon as Edward had left the room, Alfred had been seized by a terrible fear that he would never get the chance to apologise or explain why he had been so cruel - a fear that that was the last he would see of Edward Drummond.

He had waited a few moments, waited for the room to stop spinning, and then he had left the restaurant himself, walking back towards the palace. Slipping quietly into his room, he lay face down on his bed, without even bothering to undress, and wept silently onto his pillow. He wasn’t convinced he’d got even a moment’s sleep that night; every time he closed his eyes, he was tortured by the memory of the hurt in Edward’s eyes.

It had only been a few days since that horrible night, but Alfred was trying as hard as he could to keep himself distracted and go about his Palace duties as normal. He didn’t really think he was fooling anybody, though, least of all himself. No matter where he went or what he did, he still had that persistent dull ache in his chest - he was beginning to wonder if it would just be a part of him from now on. Even when he was trying to assist Victoria in important meetings, he couldn’t seem to blot out the memories of the hurt in Edward’s eyes, his horrified voice echoed through Alfred’s mind. _“An indiscretion?!”_

Luckily, nobody asked him questions or even seemed to be paying him much attention - for it seemed he was not the only person walking around the Palace in a cloud of gloom. Prince Albert was also in a fit of melancholy, although this was a more common state for him than for Alfred. Being a great admirer of Sir Robert and everything he was trying to achieve with the Corn Law repeal, Albert had visited the House during a session, wanting to show his support. From what Alfred could tell, it seemed that this had backfired on him. Peel, already facing constant opposition from within his party (which, Alfred fretted, was causing Edward even more anxiety), had immediately been jeered at with suggestions that he needed the Prince to babysit him.

Alfred understood the Prince’s feelings of guilt - although privately he thought that they were not nearly so warranted as his own. And so he had readily agreed to accompany the Prince on a ride, when Albert suggested he needed to clear his head.

Albert rode in melancholy silence, which suited Alfred much more than usual as he was not in the mood to pretend he was alright by engaging in witty conversation. What a bright and sparkling pair the two of them made, he thought sardonically.

It was only when he saw Sir Robert Peel emerging from a clearing ahead, and Albert drew his horse to a halt next to him, looking expectant but not at all surprised, that Alfred realised that Albert had been planning to meet the Prime Minister all along. 

He swallowed, panic immediately rising in his chest. If Sir Robert was out for a ride, then it was almost certain that…

His fear proved well-founded as Edward Drummond emerged out of the clearing on his own horse, following Peel. The shock on his face as he momentarily met Alfred’s eyes, before quickly turning away, told Alfred clearly that Edward had been taken just as unawares by this meeting as he had.

Alfred looked down at the ground, his insides burning with shame, wishing desperately that he could turn his horse around and gallop back the way they had come. It had only taken a momentary glance to see how much Edward was suffering. He was paler than Alfred had ever seen him, with dark shadows under his eyes. He looked as though he had been crying more than he had been sleeping.

Alfred bit his lip, trying to force down a sob. This, Edward’s pain, so visible a person would have to be blind to miss it, was _his_ fault. He had tried so hard to protect the man he loved, and look what had come of it. He had never hated himself more than he did at this moment. 

As Albert began to awkwardly apologise to Peel for the scene he had caused, and Peel quietly reassured him, Alfred continued to stare across at Edward. He had no thought of keeping a cold distance from this beautiful man anymore; he had done quite enough damage as it was. He knew that the careful courtier’s mask which he had been so desperate to maintain the other night had completely fallen away, and he found that he did not care. Right now, he just needed Edward to know how sorry he was, to understand that he was in pain too.

He could hardly speak freely in front of the Prince and the Prime Minister - all he could do was try to silently communicate an apology with his eyes. It wasn’t enough, of course, it would never be enough.

Edward simply glared back at him for a moment, and then turned his face resolutely away again, as though he was attempting to give Alfred a taste of his own medicine. With another sharp twist of pain in his stomach, Alfred looked down at the ground again, trying fruitlessly to blink away the tears stinging his eyes. What else did he expect? Edward was not to know that Alfred had been trying to protect him.

Still staring at Edward and lost in his own regret, he realised a moment late that Prince Albert had already doffed his hat respectfully to the others and wheeled his horse around. He was waiting for him. Hastily, Alfred doffed his own hat and followed suit. Something deep inside him seemed to scream in protest as he turned away from Edward. He tried not to look back, but he did not have the strength to resist. He turned his head, needing one more sight of that face, those intelligent dark eyes.

Expecting to see only the back of Edward’s head as he determinedly rode away, he was taken off guard to meet Edward’s chocolate eyes as the other man stared back at him. He turned away again quickly and set off after Peel, looking furious with himself - but not before Alfred had seen the naked longing in his eyes, the love written clearly across his face. Try as he might, Edward Drummond would never be able to dissemble for long.

Alfred turned and blindly followed the Prince back to the palace, hardly able to see where he was going, as his mind whirred so fast that he could barely keep up. All the lies he had told Edward the other night, to push him away, had clawed at him, torn at his insides. But he had told himself that, even if Edward’s heart was broken, he would at least be safe from Lothian’s threats - and that, as he had repeatedly and desperately tried to convince himself, meant that both his happiness and Edward’s was a necessary sacrifice.

He had underestimated just how excruciating it would be to see Edward in pain - that much was obvious. But, more than that, he was realising now, it had been completely idiotic of him to assume that Edward _could_ be safe if he was utterly miserable. The wretched Marquess of Lothian was not the sole threat lurking over Edward. Although Alfred had only seen him for a few moments just now, it was clear to him that Edward had stopped taking care of himself. He clearly wasn’t sleeping, and Alfred highly suspected he wasn’t eating properly either. His beautiful Edward would always be stubborn and reckless, regardless of whether or not he knew how much Alfred loved him.

What if deliberately and cruelly breaking Edward’s heart had done more damage than Lothian could ever inflict? What if Edward completely gave up hope and simply refused to take care of himself? Alfred had a sudden and vivid flashback to the despair on Edward’s face as he had gazed almost longingly down over that cliff edge in Scotland - oh god, what if Edward were to purposefully hurt himself?! What if that final glimpse over his shoulder just now had been the last time he would ever see Edward?

His throat had gone completely dry, and his breathing was starting to creep towards hyperventilation - Prince Albert looked at him in concern, and he struggled to maintain some semblance of control.

As they arrived back at the palace and dismounted, Alfred realised that despite all the chaos and terror filling his head, one thing had become clear.

He had been wrong, so wrong, to ever think pushing Edward away would keep him safe. The pain Alfred had caused, combined with Edward’s recklessness, made the man a danger to himself. Not to mention that he himself had been hurting so much since the dinner that he was barely able to function. Seeing Edward like that, he was forced to admit that he couldn’t even make it through a few days without the man he loved, let alone a lifetime.

Yes, Lothian posed a threat. But, for men like he and Edward, there would always be something lurking around the corner - he would just have to take the risk. Because living without Edward, leaving him to wallow in pain and throw his life away, was simply not an option.

Putting his riding crop away, Alfred mumbled a hasty ‘excuse me’ to Albert, and headed towards his own room as fast as he could without sprinting. If only Edward would forgive him - not that he deserved it, he told himself bitterly - then perhaps they would still have a chance to face the obstacles in their path together.

Reaching his room, he dashed over to his writing desk, quickly laying out a sheet of paper and dipping his quill in the inkwell. He had a letter to write and an offer to make - all he could do was hope that his letter would be read and his offer accepted. 

***

_The Next Day_

Today was the 15th of May, 1846 - the very day on which Parliament was due to take the final vote on the Corn Laws. Edward knew that today was the day that Sir Robert had been working towards for so many months, for he himself had been slaving away, trying his best to help. Everything, Peel’s entire career - and quite possibly his own - hung on the results of this vote, and he needed to be as alert and engaged as possible.

Unfortunately, he had never been more distracted than he was now. Since Alfred’s cold rejection at Ciros the other night, he had barely slept, and he had found he had no appetite. He had written a letter to Florence, sincerely apologising for his lack of communication. He had meant to say how much he was looking forward to their wedding - but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to write those words. He could not lie to her like that. He had no brighter future to look forward to, now that he knew Alfred didn’t love him, but that did not mean he felt any less trapped when he thought of his wedding.

And so, although he had told Florence that she was always in his thoughts, he had not actually mentioned the wedding at all. Knowing how quickly the Corn Laws vote was approaching, he had once more tried to throw himself into his work, desperate to blot out thoughts of either Florence or Alfred. Of course, these efforts to distract himself were futile. He had been walking around Parliament in a daze; he was hungry, sleep-deprived, and, despite his best efforts, he missed Alfred so much that he felt as though there was a constant, searing pain in his chest. He needed to hear that deep laugh, to see those blue eyes glinting with affectionate amusement as Alfred teased him. He didn’t know how to live his life without Alfred - but he supposed he would have to, if Alfred wasn’t interested in sharing it with him.

When Sir Robert had asked him for his company on a ride yesterday, Edward had agreed immediately, hoping desperately that it might clear his head, at least for a few hours. By the time it had occurred to him that Sir Robert actually intended to meet up with the Prince on their ride, it was too late to turn back. There in front of them was Prince Albert - and there, at his side, in all his beauty, Alfred himself. As Edward’s heart had begun pounding faster, and he had begun to imagine ridiculous things such as dismounting and pulling Alfred off his horse and into his arms, he had seen a look of shock and unease cross the other man’s face. He had quickly turned his face away, feeling the stupid tears already beginning to well again. He was fully aware of how much of a pathetic, lovesick moron he had appeared the other night, and Alfred had made it perfectly clear that Edward’s blatant adoration only made him uncomfortable. He hadn’t particularly wanted to meet Alfred’s eyes and see only that cold desire for distance again. Biting his lip, he had stubbornly refused to look at him while Sir Robert and the Prince conversed, even while he could feel Alfred’s gaze lingering on him.

He had been quite proud of himself for his restraint, but as Alfred had wheeled around to follow the Prince back to the Palace, his resolve had broken at the last moment. He didn’t even know when he would next see Alfred, he _needed_ to look at him one last time, even if the other man’s back was turned. At least that way Alfred wouldn’t see the love on Edward’s face, the love that he found so distasteful.

But as he had sat there, drinking Alfred in as he walked away, the beautiful man turned suddenly to look back at him, and his expression had made Edward’s breath catch in his throat. The cool distance from that night at the restaurant, which had made Alfred seem like a stranger, had completely vanished. There, once again, was that familiar, wonderful gleam of longing, of desire. But there was something else there too, something that made Edward want to wrap Alfred in his arms and soothe him, though he knew the man hardly deserved it. His face was full of vulnerability, fear, and something more...remorse.

Peel had politely but pointedly cleared his throat, making him start and turn to follow him, cursing himself for his inability to resist Alfred.

That encounter had happened yesterday, and today, the day they were to vote on the Corn Law repeal, he needed to have his wits about him more than ever before. But _how_ , how was he supposed to focus on politics when Alfred first rejected him so harshly, and then looked at him like _that_?! What did it mean?

Perhaps, he thought dejectedly, he had only been imagining what he had desperately wanted to see. After all, Alfred had made his opinions perfectly clear the other night.

But then, what if he hadn’t imagined it at all? What if Alfred had somehow changed his mind, what if Alfred had been longing for him, too? Was there really hope left for them? He felt the beginnings of that old familiar spark in his chest, and hastily tried to quash it. _No, no, no_ , he couldn’t afford to think like this, he would only end up in yet more pain - besides, he had the most important session of his career in only a few hours, he needed to focus!!

Cursing himself for a smitten fool, he shook himself and began to make his way towards Peel’s office, knowing Sir Robert likely needed his assistance now, not later.

“Mr Drummond, sir!”

He turned, frowning slightly, to face the person who had called to him. It was one of the House’s young messenger boys. Thomas, was he called?

“Letter for you, sir,” the boy said somewhat breathlessly, holding it out for him. Edward simply stared at him for a moment, taken aback, before nodding and reaching out to take the letter. The boy bowed awkwardly and retreated.

Who needed to reach him so urgently today, of all days, he wondered as he turned it over. The envelope was unmarked. He groaned internally - surely, not his father or his dear future father-in-law demanding to see him, _again_?

But as he impatiently opened the envelope and began reading the letter, he felt his heart immediately skip a beat. Alfred. It was Alfred’s writing. He instantly forgot his hurry to meet Peel, hearing Alfred’s soothing deep voice in his mind as he eagerly drank in his words.

_Drummond,_

_I’ve been thinking about our interrupted dinner. Whether it could be revived._

_I understand I have no right to determine your future. But it would be a shame if you never tasted the oysters at Ciros. I will be there this evening._

_Yours,_

_Alfred_

He stood there, staring at the words on the page, his hands shaking and making the paper tremble slightly. He hardly dared believe it - was he imagining things, had he completely lost his grip on reality? But no….he traced his thumb over the calligraphy, as reverently as if he was stroking Alfred’s soft, warm skin. There could be no doubt - it had been Alfred’s hand that had traced the ink into these letters.

It seemed he had _not_ imagined the longing on his face, the regret. He did not understand why Alfred had treated him so coldly the other night, but that hardly seemed to matter now, he thought, as a feeling of warmth and utter contentment stole through him from head to toe. Alfred was really asking him to come back...Alfred was giving them a chance. Despite everything that had happened over the last few days, despite the fact his eyes were still raw from crying, he found that he could not wipe the idiotic, lovestruck grin off his face.

“Drummond, lad! Why do I have to come looking for you, today of all days?”

Edward jumped and blushed, struggling to focus as Sir Robert glared at him, one eyebrow quirked in impatient annoyance. He felt slightly dazed, trying to recall what exactly Peel meant for a moment. He sighed at his own stupidity - of course Peel would be feeling immensely anxious, and it was no wonder that he was being uncharacteristically sharp. Strange how he had been wallowing in misery mere moments ago, and yet now he felt so warm and safe that Peel’s stress and fear seemed completely alien to him.

He mumbled a sheepish apology, and strode quickly after Peel. He knew full well that the outcome of this vote had the potential to make or break not only Sir Robert’s career, but his own as well. They had been working towards this for months - years, even. But perhaps he really had gone insane, because, at this moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care too much about which way the vote went. He wasn’t even sure he would be able to sit still - he didn’t completely trust himself not to just fidget and stare at the clock, as if he could will the minute hand to move faster.

It seemed he probably wouldn’t get a chance to sit down and write a letter back to Alfred.

But Alfred had promised to meet him again at Ciros, Alfred had promised them another chance. And Edward would not fail him.

***

Alfred arrived at Ciros almost an hour and a half earlier than he had planned to. There was nothing to keep his mind occupied at the palace, and he had been too full of nervous energy to simply sit still and wait. And, if he was being totally honest with himself, he was too desperate to see Edward’s dark eyes smiling at him again, reassuring him. Even though he knew logically that it was still hours before Edward would be able to leave the House, he could not bear to just sit at the palace. 

When he entered the elegant dining room, he was unsurprised to see that it was completely empty of other diners. At this hour in the afternoon, there were only waiting staff, busily preparing the tables so that they looked exquisite for the evening clientele when they arrived. The maitre d quirked an eyebrow at Alfred’s request to be seated at a table for two, but, taking in his clearly expensive clothing, he seemed to decide not to press the issue. Bowing rather obsequiously, he showed Alfred to a seat at the same table they had been sitting at the other night, and returned almost immediately with the wine he had requested. Alfred knew it was hardly civilised to be drinking before the sun had even set, but he felt he needed _something_ to calm his nerves.

He had not actually received any reply from Edward.

He had no idea whether the man he loved was even going to come and meet him here tonight. He was vaguely aware that today was the day the House was due to have the final vote on the Corn Law Repeal, which he knew was hugely significant for Peel, and thus for Edward. He tried to tell himself that this was the only reason Edward had not written back; obviously he would be incredibly busy.

But there was a cruel, sneering part of his brain which refused to stay silent, insisting that Edward had been motivated by his pain and fury to deliberately ignore Alfred’s letter. No matter how he tried to stifle it, that voice in his head jeered at him, telling him that Edward would not come because he had had his heart broken, and wanted no more to do with Alfred. He could not even be angry at Edward if that was the choice he had made, because he knew that, after the way he had behaved, it was all that he deserved.

Perhaps it had been a bad idea to come back to exactly the same restaurant. Alfred had thought to make a gesture towards a fresh start, but sitting at the same table with exactly the same view, all he could picture was Edward’s beautiful face crumpling in pain, shock and humiliation in his dark eyes. This was not exactly helping his nerves.

A waiter came back to refill his wine glass, and he tipped it back absentmindedly, already unable to remember if it was his second or third. The restaurant was still completely empty of other diners, and he sighed as he looked at the grandfather clock in the corner. Still only 4.45. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop to break the silence.

He supposed all he could do now was wait.

***

The atmosphere in the House was so tense, heavy with anticipation, that Edward found himself getting caught up in it all, sitting on the edge of his seat, despite his fluttering excitement for later. He sat with bated breath as Sir Robert finished his last, passionate statement. Peel sat down gingerly next to him. He had fought for this, campaigned for this, for many months now, with Edward’s help - and now, there was no more he could say. All either of them could do was wait to see if their proposal, their hard work, would be accepted or rejected.

There was a ringing silence in the moments after Peel stopped speaking. Looking across at him, Edward saw how pale he was; his jaw was clenched as though he feared he might be sick if he opened his mouth. Hesitantly, he reached across and gently grasped his mentor’s shoulder, wanting to let him know how proud he was, that he supported him regardless of the outcome. Sir Robert looked back at him, and tried to smile. It was more of a grimace, but Edward nodded. He understood.

The silence seemed to Edward to stretch on endlessly, becoming almost unbearable.

Then finally, it was broken by the House Speaker. “All those _against_ a repeal of our Corn Laws?”

Hardly daring to breathe, Edward glanced slowly around the chamber. There were certainly hands rising into the air - but they were scattered few and far between. The silence seemed to press on his ears as he waited for more people to vote against, but no other hands rose into the air. He glanced at Sir Robert, who looked as though he, too, did not dare to believe it yet. From what he could see, those voting against constituted only a tiny fraction of all the men in the room! 

“All those _in favour_ of repeal?” the speaker asked of the chamber, sounding almost as thunderstruck as Edward felt.

Edward raised a trembling hand as Peel did the same beside him - and so, he saw, did an astonishing number of other men. Hands were being raised all over the room, almost like a solid wall, so that it was hard to spot those stubborn few who sat with their arms folded. It was a clear majority, he believed it was close enough to unanimous!

He met Sir Robert’s eyes, starting to laugh in sheer relief, and the other man began to laugh too.

The speaker cleared his throat. “Motion passed. Corn Laws hereby repealed.”

Deafening applause rose up from all sides, and as Edward stood up, grinning broadly and enthusiastically joining in, he noticed that Sir Robert, beaming, was trying to wipe away tears. He held out his hand to shake his mentor’s, but Peel scoffed and, uncharacteristically, pulled him into an unexpected hug. Edward couldn’t help but grin even wider - he could not remember or even imagine his own father, so obsessed with ceremony and appearance, ever doing such a thing. 

His heart seemed to be bursting with relief, pride, and excitement as he followed Peel out onto the street. A huge crowd of people was waiting outside, calling out praise, chanting _“Good work Sir Robert Peel!”_ Edward felt lightheaded; he couldn’t quite believe that, after so many months, it was over, they had won, and the common people were already coming out to show their appreciation and support. 

Still beaming, Sir Robert turned to him. “You sure I can’t take you home?” he asked.

Edward was touched and grateful, but he knew that tonight, at least, he would have to turn down the kind offer. “Thank you, Sir,” he responded sincerely, “but I have an engagement.” 

Peel looked at him a little suspiciously, and Edward wondered how easy it was to read his idiotically lovestruck expression. He found that he did not much care. He could barely imagine feeling happier than he was right now. They had won, the stress of the repeal was finally behind them - and Alfred wanted him. Alfred was waiting for him, right now. He felt the familiar flare of excitement in his chest, stronger than ever before. He was giddy, he felt almost drunk with joy.

Peel seemed to decide to let the matter go. “Thank you for stopping me making a fool of myself over Bentinck,” he chuckled, referring to the sneering opponent he had almost come to physical blows with before Edward had intervened. He held out his hand.

Edward chuckled in return, and reached out to shake his mentor’s hand.

In a split second, though, he knew something was wrong. He had a sudden eerie prickling feeling on the back of his neck, as though someone was watching them intently. Peel, still grinning, did not seem to have noticed.

He turned around, with the strangest feeling that the world was suddenly moving in slow motion. 

He saw a weedy, rat like little dark haired man. He had pushed to the front of the jostling crowd - and Edward found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

His body and brain both seemed to freeze up for a moment, and he heard the man’s voice dimly, as though from a long way away.

“Sir Robert Peel - prepare to meet your maker.”

The blast of the gun also seemed to reach him slowly, as though from a great distance. Everything was still moving in slow motion.

He turned and saw that Sir Robert was simply standing there, shocked horror and blank incomprehension on his face.

He felt a thrill of terror for the man who was like a father to him, and without planning, without thinking, he dove in front of him, following a primal urge to protect.

Before he could even process what he had just done, he felt a searing, burning pain in his chest, more agonising than anything he had felt in his life.

The sky tilted sharply, and the ground seemed to fall away under his feet.

From a distance, he heard panicked shouts, and, for a split second, although it made no sense, he saw Alfred’s face more vividly than ever before, blue eyes sparkling in affectionate amusement, pure love on his face.

Then, a blanket of darkness seemed to fall over his eyes, over his chest, over his mind, and everything disappeared.

***

Alfred glanced at the clock for the thousandth time, his chest feeling curiously hollow. He was almost entirely alone in the restaurant still, but now it was because all the other diners had come and gone. It was getting close to 10 at night now. He had been sitting here at this table, alone, for almost five hours.

Edward was not coming. Obviously. In fact, that probably should have been obvious about three hours ago now.

He closed his eyes, trying to swallow down the pain. It had been beyond stupid of him to hope that Edward would come back, he chastised himself. Why on earth would he, after everything Alfred had said, after Alfred had betrayed him? It was humiliating and excruciatingly painful to sit here waiting, alone, without a word from the man he loved  - but then, what more did he deserve?

He had tried to push Edward away, and, evidently, it had worked. Clearly Edward was trying to tell Alfred that he was moving on, just as Alfred had told him to. He supposed he should do the same. There was no reason to wait here anymore.

He absentmindedly stroked the petals of the flower in front of him as the staff tidied up around him. Their texture reminded him of the softness of Edward’s skin.

He would just wait here for a few more moments.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry...
> 
> I promise that this is canon divergent, with no major character death! I apologise for the cliffhanger! 
> 
> All I can say is that it may be a little while before you get to hear anything from Edward's perspective again - but I promise that you will!
> 
> And, as always, thank you to all the beautiful people who give comments and kudos. Thank you for sticking with me this far - now buckle in, because we're steering sharply away from canon from here on in!!


	8. On Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward has been rushed to hospital after being shot - and he has rather a lot of concerned visitors....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, we are finally moving away from canon now, as I promised!
> 
> Again, sorry about all the angst in this chapter. I promise it's not nearly as dark as the actual show's finale, and you will definitely find a bit of fluff towards the end - and perhaps a few surprises in the middle...
> 
> This chapter is still pretty long - but it's definitely shorter than last chapter, I checked! I will try to make Chapter 9 an even more reasonable length!

Alfred had spent an entirely sleepless night.

 

Even though he had _known_ there was no chance of Edward coming to the restaurant, he had continued sitting there, gazing towards the door, throwing back wine just so that he had something to do with his shaking hands.

In fact, he had not left Ciros until a waiter had come over and informed him they would be closing up in five minutes. The man had awkwardly asked Alfred if he would like them to order him a carriage, seeing the somewhat unsteady way he had hastily risen to his feet.

He had tried his best, slurring his words just a little, to reassure the waiter that he had a carriage waiting outside, and had left wondering when he had become so pathetic - waiting for hours alone, at a table for two, with the waiter wondering if he was too intoxicated to make his own way home.

Growing more ashamed of himself by the minute, he had retched once he finally got back to his private rooms in the palace, and lain down fully clothed on top of his bed, staring at the ceiling, not even attempting to sleep, impatiently trying to wipe his tears away.

 

A few hours later and here he was, standing at the Queen’s side as usual, trying to pretend that this was just another day. He wondered if everyone could see how red-rimmed his eyes were, but he honestly could not work up the strength to care much.

He stared straight ahead as Victoria and Albert spoke to each other, letting their voices wash over him without taking in the words.

All he wanted to do was go back to his room and stay there, alone, perhaps sleep so that he could escape from his thoughts at least for a few hours. But he could not think of any excuse he would make that might be deemed acceptable. And so he just stood there, staring anxiously at the doorway, struggling to prepare himself for their coming visitors.

Yes, Victoria was expecting visitors. The Queen had asked Sir Robert to pay her a call today, to inform her about the vote last night and its results. And Alfred, his stomach twisting uncomfortably as though he might retch again, had no doubt that the Prime Minister would bring Edward in tow.

He was certainly an expert at dissembling usually - that was how he had managed to drive Edward away so efficiently, he reminded himself bitterly - but he honestly didn’t know if he would be able to get through this with a polite courtier’s smile.

In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure he trusted himself not to start crying in great, heaving sobs in front of everyone. 

For some reason, though, Sir Robert seemed to be running rather late.

In fact, it was coming up for an hour since the time he was due to have arrived, and even though Alfred barely had any thoughts to spare for listening to Victoria, he could tell clearly from her tone, and the way she was muttering mutinously to Albert, that she was not best pleased by Peel’s tardiness.

For Alfred’s part, he could not tell if Peel’s uncharacteristic lateness was a blessing or a curse. On the one hand, every moment that Edward failed to appear in that doorway, glaring coldly at him, was a moment of relief. But on the other hand, surely this waiting, this horrible anticipation as he imagined the look of anger and disgust in Edward’s eyes, only made everything worse?

Alfred closed his eyes for a moment, trying to focus on his own breathing to steady himself.

This did nothing to help, for the moment he opened his eyes again, he saw that Sir Robert had finally arrived, bowing apologetically to Victoria. His heart jumped into his throat as he realised that the Prime Minister had come in alone. Where was Edward?

 

“Sir Robert! I should say it is about time!” Victoria declared, never one to hide her irritation.

“My sincere apologies, ma’am,” the Prime Minister responded, looking up at her. “There were some….unforeseen circumstances, which slowed me down.”

Alfred suddenly felt as if something very cold was crawling down his spine, and he shivered. He had never seen Sir Robert, a pragmatic and sensible man, acting like this before. His voice seemed to be shaking, and it had almost cracked on the words ‘unforeseen circumstances.’ He looked as if he had not slept, and his eyes were red-rimmed.

And of course, he had come in without Edward at his side, which Alfred couldn’t remember him ever doing before.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. 

Victoria looked at Peel, her look of irritation replaced by concern.

 

“You seem out of sorts, Sir Robert,” she said, her tone much gentler than usual. “Am I to take it, then, that the repeal did not pass? I am truly sorry for your loss if that is so; I know how hard you and Mr Drummond were working for repeal.”

Peel let out a noise that sounded like a choked sob at the Queen’s mention of Edward. Alfred wondered if he was going to retch all over again.

He felt rather than heard a slight movement behind him; Miss Coke, who he had almost forgotten was in the room with them, had moved quietly forward to stand next to him, as though to reassure him.

“No, ma’am, the repeal did pass, by a wide margin in fact,” Sir Robert responded, seemingly struggling to compose himself.

“But you see...god, Drummond tried to warn me, he told me to remember Spencer Perceval, but I him he was being overcautious and….”

“Spencer Perceval?” Victoria repeated in alarm, as Alfred felt a sick swooping sensation in his stomach. Why would Peel bring up the Prime Minister who had been shot and killed in the House of Commons over thirty years ago?

“Surely, you don’t mean…” Victoria trailed off as though she could not find the words.

“I myself was shot at outside Parliament after last night’s session, ma’am,” Peel said quietly. “I am alright,” he said quickly as Miss Coke audibly gasped, “or at least, I am physically unharmed - although I will not deny that I was shaken half out of my wits.”

“But….how…?” Victoria asked.

 “I am only alright because of Drummond’s intervening, ma’am,” Sir Robert said, his voice shaking badly again, his eyes filling with tears. “He jumped in front of the bullet, ma’am, he saved my life. He is the reason I am still able to stand here now.”

Peel’s voice seemed suddenly to be coming to Alfred from a very long way away. The room seemed to be spinning dizzyingly fast.

A ringing silence seemed to follow Peel’s words for a few endless moments, before Victoria hesitantly broke it.

“You don’t mean...dead?”

Alfred let out a small noise like a wounded animal before he could stop himself, and he quickly put a hand to his own mouth to stifle the sound. Dimly, he felt Miss Coke’s light and hesitant touch on his shoulder.

“No, ma’am. Not dead. His heart is still beating. He was taken to hospital on a stretcher last night,” Peel answered shakily. “The doctors told me that they will do their best,” he continued,  “but they can by no means guarantee me that he is out of danger yet.”

“My goodness, the poor man,” Victoria murmured, sounding stunned.

Alfred, for his part, gripped the chair in front of him desperately as he felt his knees buckle.

Next to him, Miss Coke seemed to have been expecting something like this, as she immediately grasped his arm and pulled him upright with more strength than he would even have imagined her to possess.

 

He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t even care what anyone else thought at the moment, not even if they suspected, not even if they _knew_.

The only thing he cared about was seeing the man he loved, _now_.

 

“Ma’am, I….I...” he started, barely even registering how violently his own voice was shaking. “May I be excused? I need to go and see my...my friend…”

He trailed off weakly, barely able to speak as his heart seemed to have lodged in his throat.

Victoria looked at him with affectionate compassion.

“Of course, Lord Alfred,” she said gently and kindly. “I apologise that I did not make the offer; in my shock I had almost forgotten what a dear friend Mr Drummond has been to you.”

Alfred nodded, trying to smile gratefully at her, but finding that the muscles in his face did not seem to be working properly. 

“In fact,” Victoria continued, “I think that I will accompany you myself, Lord Alfred. Mr Drummond is a fine, hardworking, honourable man, and, as Sir Robert tells it, his actions last night make him nothing short of heroic. I should certainly like the chance to thank him if he wakes up - _when_ he wakes up,” she amended hastily. “And besides, as a mother myself, I feel sure that Drummond’s mother would appreciate some company at this most difficult time.”

“I will join the two of you if you have no objection, ma’am,” said Sir Robert hastily. “I left the hospital to put some affairs from last night in order and to bring you the news, but I already feel that I have been away too long. I owe my life to that young man...the least I can do is keep watch, and talk to his parents.” He cleared his throat, struggling once again to compose himself.

“I too, will join you, if it is not an inconvenience,” Prince Albert chimed in a little awkwardly, evidently wanting to show Sir Robert his support as a friend.

“Thank you, Your Highness. I appreciate it,” Peel responded.

“May I accompany them, Aunt?” Miss Coke asked in a small voice. “I should like to see how Mr Drummond is.” She was still standing next to Alfred and, although she was addressing the Duchess, he felt her hand still resting lightly on his arm, ready to catch him should he stumble again.

“In my day, we would have said that a hospital was no place for a young lady,” the Duchess grumbled, “particularly not if she wanted to visit a man in Mr Drummond’s.... condition.”

Alfred flinched violently and Miss Coke squeezed his arm gently in response.

The Duchess sighed, and her voice was a little gentler when she spoke again. 

“However, young Drummond was undeniably brave - albeit downright foolhardy as well - and as it seems that everybody else is flocking to see him - then you may go if Her Majesty gives you permission, Wilhemina. I daresay you will find some way to make yourself useful,” she said, glancing strangely at Alfred as she said this.

“Thank you, Aunt,” Miss Coke replied with relief. She turned to Victoria.

“Yes, of course you may join us, Miss Coke,” said Victoria impatiently. “If your aunt feels she does not have the authority to object then I hardly feel that I do!”

Miss Coke bobbed a hasty curtsey.

“Are you feeling ready to set off now, Lord Alfred?” Victoria asked him gently.

He nodded jerkily without speaking. The room still seemed to be spinning.

“Then come, let us head for the carriages at once,” she declared.

 

As the party made its way out, Miss Coke put her arm through his, and he held onto her arm tightly, grateful that she was helping him to be steady. He looked over at her, meaning to thank her, but the words seemed to stick in his throat.

She seemed to understand without him needing to say anything, though. She nodded at him, gripping his arm tighter, and he nodded back, struggling to swallow.

 

He had not particularly intended for, or wanted, so many people to accompany him to the hospital. But he found he did not really care if one person came, if five people came - he doubted he would even have noticed had every single soldier from Victoria’s army accompanied them.

The only thing that mattered was that he saw Edward as soon as possible, saw with his own eyes that Edward Drummond was still breathing.

Everything else was just meaningless background noise.

 

***

 

The journey across London was a blur; Alfred looked out of the window but saw nothing, his mind a whir of panic.

He was finding it difficult enough to breathe steadily and calmly as it was, but squashed into the same carriage as Miss Coke, Victoria and Albert, and Robert Peel, with a tense silence pervading the air between them, he felt the claustrophobic weight of his anxiety and terror pressing down on him all the more, pushing down on his lungs.

The loudest sound he could hear inside the carriage was the steady, insistent ticking of Sir Robert’s pocket watch. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to shake the idea that the watch was ticking away the moments Edward had left.

What if he was too late to say goodbye? What if that cold, cruel rejection in Ciros, his dismissal of their time in Scotland as an ‘indiscretion’, had actually been the last conversation he and Edward would ever have?

Desperately trying to blot out these thoughts, he tried to focus on the trundling sounds of the carriage wheels, fiercely willing them to move as fast as physically possible, or preferably faster.

But when they finally pulled up on the gravel pathway in front of the hospital, Alfred stared out the window, finding himself filled with a sudden reluctance to go in.

 

The facade of St Bartholomew’s Hospital was tall, grey and forbidding. It seemed to stare down at Alfred, making him feel small and alone despite the fact that he was surrounded by people.

Despite his impatience only moments ago, he now found himself hanging back slightly behind the others, gazing up at the building before him.

Surely, if hospitals were where people were taken to be cured, they were supposed to inspire feelings of hope and relief? So why did this place remind him so much of a prison, sending a chill down his spine and making him think of shadows and walls closing in on him?

Once more, Miss Coke gently squeezed his arm, seeing his hesitation.

Her touch seemed to bring him back to himself slightly. He couldn’t afford to just stand out here trembling - Edward was in there. Edward needed him.

Steeling himself, he padded in quietly, following Sir Robert down the corridor.

 

The hospital seemed spacious and clean, but there was a sterile coldness to the place.  The cool greys and blues were very different to the rich and warm scarlets and golds that he was used to at the palace. The air was sharp in here, the light cold and harsh. He shivered involuntarily; he felt as if the fear and despair of many other people that had passed through here was lingering around him, clinging to him, recognising his own terror and trying to claim him.

Still struggling to breathe steadily, with Miss Coke clutching his arm, they drew up behind Sir Robert, who was shaking the hand of a tall, lean, silver-haired man, the two of them murmuring quietly. Two women stood at the man’s side.

As Alfred approached this group with the others, the tall man turned to them, sweeping his grey eyes over them.

He had the air of someone who was used to taking the measure of others, of instantly calculating how they could be of use to him. At the moment, though, he looked weary, and his eyes were shadowed with something more than exhaustion and fear - Alfred thought he could see regret there, perhaps even shame.

He remembered the look of anger and helplessness in Edward’s eyes when he had bitterly spoken about his family, and he knew that this man, with the cold grey eyes tinged with regret, must be Edward’s father. 

Mr Drummond bowed in greeting when he saw Victoria and Albert, and the two women next to him curtsied in unison.

One of these women was a petite and middle-aged brunette. Her warm dark eyes were very familiar to Alfred - although Mrs Drummond’s eyes were currently wide with anxiety and fear, rather than the love and laughter Alfred was used to seeing in her son’s.

Alfred shivered slightly as he met the eyes of the woman standing beside Edward’s mother. He did not need to be told who this was, either.

He supposed most men would consider her beautiful, with her tall and slender frame, porcelain skin, curly hair the colour of butterscotch and hazel eyes.

His stomach clenched as he gazed at the woman Edward was to marry. She looked exactly as he felt, sick with fear - although he supposed she didn’t know enough to look back at him and feel the same gnawing sensation of jealousy deep in her stomach.

“Mr and Mrs Drummond, and the Honourable Lady Florence Kerr, ma’am,” Sir Robert announced somewhat unnecessarily.

 

Victoria stepped forward and reached out to clasp Mrs Drummond’s hand.

“I know how difficult this must be for you,” she said. “It might be cold comfort at the moment, but I hope you know that your son is only here because he is a hero.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Mrs Drummond whispered through tears, clutching her hand back. “It means so much to us that you have come here today.”

Her husband nodded stiffly beside her, his jaw tight, shame still written across his face.

 

“I believe you know the Honourable Miss Wilhemina Coke, Lady Florence?” Victoria asked kindly.

Florence nodded, and her voice trembled as she spoke.

“Yes, ma’am, we are dear friends,” she responded. Beside Alfred, Miss Coke reached out to grasp Florence’s hand, although she kept her other hand reassuringly on his arm.

 

“And speaking of dear friends,” Victoria continued, “I am not sure if you are acquainted with Lord Alfred Paget here? He has been a wonderful and caring friend, not only to me but to brave Mr Drummond as well. I cannot take the credit for this visit, it was he who insisted we come here to visit Mr Drummond immediately.”

Alfred flinched and bowed lower than was strictly necessary, more out of a desire to avoid Florence’s eyes than out of courtesy.

 

“Thank you for being such a kind friend to my son, Lord Alfred,” Mrs Drummond said quietly, holding out her hand to him.

Feeling lost and on the brink of tears again, he took her hand and brushed his lips against it lightly. His throat was too tight for words anyway.

 

He didn’t think he could stand to stay out here any longer trying to comfort Edward’s parents and fiance. He felt he was going to scream.

Luckily, the door around which they were all gathered finally opened, and a tall, bald man came out.

 

“Good afternoon, Sir Robert,” said the man, presumably a doctor. “I did not expect you back so soon. I see you have brought some other visitors,” he added, bowing deeply as he spotted Victoria.

 

“Yes,” Peel responded quickly. “I’m sorry, I meant to be back sooner. May we….?”

 

The doctor sighed.

 

“I’m not convinced this is a sight for ladies, Sir, but…”

 

“Oh, I think you might find that we are made of sterner stuff than you account for, sir,” Victoria chimed in.

 

He inclined his head.

 

“Very good, ma’am. You may all come in to see him, _briefly_. We have at least managed to staunch the bleeding.”

 

Alfred recoiled as the doctor stood back against the door and the others began to file through. Oh god, he couldn’t do this.

 

Miss Coke grasped his arm tightly once more. They were the only two left outside, as the doctor stood holding the door open for them.

“It’s alright, Lord Alfred,” she murmured quietly. “You can take a moment if you need to. Nobody will think any the worse of you.”

He looked at her, seeing nothing but compassion and gentle understanding in her blue eyes.

“I - thank you, Miss Coke,” he managed to choke out. She nodded.

“Take a deep breath,” she advised him. He obeyed. “Now another.” He inhaled again.

“Better?” she asked. He nodded.

“I think I’m ready,” Alfred said quietly.

He wasn’t, not by a long way - but he supposed it was as true as it would ever be.

Her hand on his arm lent him a tiny sliver of reassurance and comfort, as he walked into the room where the man he loved lay.

 

For a moment, he thought his own heart had stopped.

Edward, his Edward, was lying there on the bed, his eyes closed.

He was as pale as marble, with no trace of that beautiful blush he so often had in Alfred’s presence. He was eerily, unnaturally still.

His shirt had been stripped from him. Usually, Alfred would have greatly appreciated this, tracing his eyes over the muscles of Edward’s stomach - but at the moment, he was somewhat distracted by the small, dark hole in his chest.

The room seemed to tilt, and Alfred’s knees gave way beneath him. Miss Coke quickly grabbed a chair, pushing it under him just in time.

He could not seem to tear his eyes away from that hole. How could something so tiny have turned his whole world upside down?

It occurred to him as he stared at it that the hole was on the opposite side from Edward’s heart. It was nowhere near his heart, in fact - it was high up, close to his collarbone.

He closed his eyes for a moment, sending a prayer to the heavens for that smallest of mercies.

Opening his eyes again, he released a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding. Edward was not quite as still as he’d first thought. When he looked more closely, he could see his chest rising up and down ever so slightly.

 

“The wound could certainly have been worse,” the doctor said quietly. “He is relatively lucky. He has not worsened since last night, Sir,” he said, in response to Peel’s questioning look.

“It is difficult for us to say yet when there will be any change, but rest assured that we are doing what we can. There is still cause for hope.”

 

Mrs Drummond, her eyes filled with tears, leaned over Edward and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Alfred felt a strange twisting feeling in his stomach. Even though he knew her love for Edward was completely different to his own, it still felt oddly painful to see how easily and openly other people were allowed to demonstrate their love for him.

The sickening feeling worsened as he watched Florence draw close to the bed and somewhat awkwardly take Edward’s hand in hers.

Alfred was seized by a violent urge to push her roughly away from the bed, to lie down next to Edward and curl up in the curve of his body until he woke up.

 

“I think perhaps we should leave Edward in Florence’s company for a little while; he will be in good hands,” Mrs Drummond suggested.

There was a murmur of agreement around the room.

Alfred stiffened, staring at Florence. He could not do it. He could not bear to walk out of this room and leave Edward alone with the woman who was to be his wife.

But the others had already begun to file wearily out of the room, and Miss Coke was waiting for him, looking at him with pity in her eyes, and he realised that he had no other choice but to leave the two of them alone.

She was his fiance, and he merely a friend. In the eyes of the world, this woman had more right to be in here with Edward than he did.

Miss Coke tugged impatiently at his sleeve, and, despite his overwhelming impulse to stay, he backed slowly out of the room, unwilling to take his eyes away from Edward and the woman who loved him.

 

***

 

Florence had been sitting in the Drummonds’ parlour, having morning tea with Mrs Drummond, when Edward’s father had unceremoniously burst in, a letter in his trembling hands.

She had known immediately, before he even spoke, that something was terribly wrong. For one thing, Charles Drummond would never usually set foot in the parlour - this room, decorated in soft pastels and florals, was the domain of women.

And what was more, Charles Drummond was a man who was cold, haughty and used to being in control - he was not an easy man to surprise. Never before had Florence seen him looking so pale, so _afraid_. He was shaking from head to foot as he brandished the letter at them, struggling to form words.

“Edward...outside Parliament...last night…” he tried.

Florence had risen with Mrs Drummond to greet him, still holding her teacup, and the two of them had stared at him, Florence feeling her heart beginning to pound uncomfortably fast.

“Edward….he’s been shot, Frances,” he had finally managed, gazing at his wife with terror in his eyes.

Frances had let out a moan as her knees gave way and she sunk back down into her chair. Florence, feeling as though the floor had suddenly given a violent lurch beneath her, had dropped her teacup as her entire body went numb, and stumbled forward, knocking over the tea table in front of them.

The crash of smashing china had seemed to reach her from a long way away as she stared at Charles.

“He’s not - ?”

Charles had shaken his head.

“His heart is still beating, thank God,” he’d said. “But he’s unconscious. They’re not yet sure how easy it will be to save him.”

“Where is he?” Florence had choked out, her head swimming.

“St Bartholomew’s Hospital,” Charles had responded in a trembling voice.

Florence had closed her eyes, trying to stop the room from spinning. When she had opened them again, she saw that Frances Drummond had risen to her feet, gripping her chair like Florence to keep herself steady.

“Then you will fetch someone to take us to him, Charles,” she had said in a low voice, sounding more determined than Florence had ever heard her. “Now.”

 

And so Charles had summoned a coachman to take them at full speed to the hospital, Florence’s stomach lurching and her heart pounding all the way.

She still couldn’t comprehend it; was it really possible that she might become a widow before she was even a wife?

 

When they had arrived at the hospital, Florence shivering slightly at the claustrophobic feeling of the walls closing in on her, a tall bald doctor had come to them, explaining that they might have to wait a little while before they could go in to see Edward. He was just being ‘cleaned up’, apparently.

Florence had shuddered at the gory images filling her head, and sunk down into a chair next to Mrs Drummond, as Mr Drummond began pacing.

 

She couldn’t have said how long they sat there.

It seemed ridiculous to be so close to her fiance and yet not be allowed in to see him, and she had half a mind to barge in there anyway, doctors or no doctors.

But she was terrified of what she might find. She couldn’t seem to stop the images playing in her mind, images of scarlet bloodsoaked sheets and Edward’s pale face.

Oh god, she needed a distraction.

And then, finally, a distraction arrived.

She got to her feet as a portly middle-aged man walked over to them, his hand outstretched to shake Charles’s. She recognised the man as Sir Robert Peel, the Prime Minister and Edward’s mentor. She saw that his eyes were red-rimmed and exhausted, and remembered that Charles had said something about the Prime Minister being with Edward when he’d been wounded.

She was somewhat stunned at the realisation that the tall dark man and the petite, pretty brunette woman next to him were none other than His Highness Prince Albert and Her Majesty Queen Victoria. She had not realised that _such_ grand people would concern themselves with Edward!

She sunk immediately into a curtsey, and watched as the Queen kindly and genuinely offered comfort to Mrs Drummond.

Wilhemina too, was amongst the party of newcomers. It was good to see a familiar, friendly face, and she tried to smile at her, but the muscles in her face didn’t seem to be working too well. She was still a little bewildered at her friend’s sudden close acquaintance with Edward. She flinched a little as she remembered that letter that had caused so much trouble, and turned her gaze from Wilhemina to the unfamiliar man next to her, whose arm she was gently holding on to.

His hair was such a bright blond that it almost looked golden, and his eyes were an almost startling shade of blue. He had finely carved cheekbones, a generous mouth, and eyelashes longer than she had ever seen on any other man. He was every bit as handsome as Edward, although in a fairer, more delicate way.

The Queen introduced him as Lord Alfred Paget, and as he bowed to her, hiding his face, a memory stirred.

Lord Alfred Paget - that was the name Wilhemina had mentioned so frequently and enthusiastically in her letter. Well, if this was what the man looked like, she supposed she could hardly blame her friend for gushing.

Florence stared curiously at him as the Queen explained what a dear friend he was to Edward. She was a little bewildered that she hadn’t heard more of him or even met him before, if that was the case - but that wasn’t the only peculiar thing.

The pain and fear she had seen in his blue eyes seemed almost to mirror her own, and Wilhemina’s steadying hand on his arm seemed more for his benefit than hers.

And Florence had the strangest impression that he was trying to hide his face from her as he bowed.

 

She jumped slightly as the door behind them opened, and the bald doctor from earlier came out.

He greeted Sir Robert and, then, _finally_ , he allowed them in to see Edward.

Florence looked at Edward’s mother as the two of them inhaled deeply, before following the doctor in.

 

She reeled back, her head spinning, at the sight of her fiance lying prone on the bed. He was just so pale, so still.

He was shirtless. Normally, she would have blushed to see Edward in such a state before their wedding night, but now her eyes were drawn immediately to the small, dark hole high on his chest, near his collarbone.

She simply stared at the wound for a moment, hearing nothing but the pounding of her own heart.

She was distracted by a loud thump behind her, and turned to see that Lord Alfred seemed to have collapsed into a chair. Wilhemina was hovering over him, concern etched across her face.

She frowned slightly, puzzled, and turned back to Edward. On second glance, perhaps his condition was not _quite_ so grave as it had first appeared - she could see the gentle movement of his chest as he breathed in and out.

 

Vaguely, she heard the doctor murmuring words of reassurance and comfort.

She watched as Edward’s mother leant over him with tears in her eyes and pressed her lips to his forehead.

 

All of a sudden, Florence felt immensely uncomfortable and awkward. She didn’t know what to do. She could see that Mrs Drummond was looking at her expectantly, so she reached out to grasp Edward’s hand. His skin was burning with fever, but it was reassuring to know he had not gone cold.

Somehow, though, his hand in hers felt....wrong. It was as though she was invading his privacy in some way. She could feel Lord Alfred’s eyes on her, as though he was silently judging her. _Don’t be ridiculous_ , she chided herself.

 

“I think perhaps we should leave Edward in Florence’s company for a little while,” Frances murmured. “He will be in good hands.”

Florence froze, staring once again at the small hole in Edward’s chest. She pulled her hand away from his, feeling somewhat faint.

 _No!_ she wanted to yell. _Please, please don’t leave me here alone with him, I don’t know what to do!_

But the others were already murmuring in agreement as they left the room.

She sat down heavily on a chair next to Edward’s bed, as Wilhemina and Lord Alfred finally left.

There was no sound in the room now, other than the pounding of her own heart. The silence seemed to press down on her, tormenting and judging her.

She was going to be Edward’s wife, and yet she had the overwhelming feeling that she shouldn’t be here. She didn’t belong.

Edward’s mother loved him more than anything in the world. She belonged.

Sir Robert was Edward’s beloved mentor, who had an unbreakable bond with him now that Edward had saved his life. He belonged.

And Lord Alfred was, apparently, Edward’s dearest friend in the world, who most likely knew him better than anyone. He belonged.

But she? She had known and loved Edward Drummond once, long ago, when they were children, but although she was to be his wife, she wasn’t entirely sure that she either knew him or loved him now. She did not belong.

She did not know how long she sat there, staring at the pale form of her fiance on the bed. It could have been hours.

A terrifying thought occurred to her. What if, somehow, on some level, this was _her_ fault?

She had been half wishing, half hoping, that something might happen which would delay the marriage, or maybe even allow her to escape from it altogether. What if some unknown and malevolent force in the universe had somehow heard her wish, and decided to grant her wish in the cruellest way possible, by putting Edward in the path of that bullet? What if, in some way, Edward’s blood was on _her_ hands?

Her breathing began to creep towards hyperventilation. _Don’t be so stupid, Florence Kerr_ , she told herself. She was not normally so prone to foolish superstitions; she did not know what was coming over her. _It’s this room_ , she thought. It’s being alone in this room, with nothing but the spiralling silence and Edward lying prone on the bed.

She glanced around the sparsely decorated room, desperate for a distraction.

Her gaze fell on Edward’s burgundy coat, draped over the chair opposite her. She winced as she saw a few dark flecks of blood spattered over it. It seemed the doctors had stripped Edward’s coat from him in their haste to get to the wound, but in the anxiety of cleaning it and ensuring there were no fragments of bullet lodged there, they had neglected to remove the coat from the room for cleaning.

She frowned slightly, leaning closer as she noticed the corner of something white standing out against the burgundy. She got up and walked around the bed to investigate.

It was a letter. There was a letter in Edward’s coat pocket.

Fingers trembling slightly, she reached out for it without thinking. She knew it was not her place to read such a thing - but what if it was something Edward had been trying to deliver? What if it was for her?

Her hands shook as she saw that the page, too, was lightly flecked with dried blood. She smoothed it out, trying to calm her breathing.

_Drummond,_

_I’ve been thinking about our interrupted dinner. Whether it could be revived._

_I understand I have no right to determine your future. But it would be a shame if you never tasted the oysters at Ciros. I will be there this evening._

_Yours,_

_Alfred_

Florence stared at the words on the page, struggling to comprehend them.

 _‘Determine your future’?_ What could Lord Alfred mean by that? Did he mean….her? It stung to think that Edward had been discussing her with this man, behind her back, particularly as she could not recall him confiding in _her_ about his friendship with Lord Alfred.

Friendship….was that even the right word? She couldn’t think of any other word to describe it, but she couldn’t help but look at that signature and wonder if there was not something peculiarly... _intimate_ about it.

 _‘Yours, Alfred,’_ she mouthed to herself. He had left his formal title off, which was one thing. But there was something else. That wording almost sounded like Lord Alfred was…. _pledging_ himself to Edward. Creating some unbreakable bond between them. She couldn’t imagine ever signing a letter to Edward that way, or vice versa, even though they were engaged.

And the way Lord Alfred had seemed to avoid her gaze….the way he had collapsed into that chair as soon as he saw Edward’s wound, and the way Wilhemina had kept her hand so protectively on his arm….

 

She shook her head, trying to clear it. She was exhausted, she was on edge, she was probably being paranoid and overthinking things. She needed to get out of this room.

She got up to slip the letter back into Edward’s coat pocket, but hesitated.

A split second passed, and then, without exactly knowing why, she rolled the bloodstained letter up and slipped it out of sight, inside her own sleeve.

 

She looked back at Edward’s pale face, blinking away tears, and then turned to open the door.

She jumped slightly in shock as she immediately came face to face with Lord Alfred. He seemed to have been hovering there, waiting for the door to open.

He swept quickly into a bow again, and again she had the strange thought that he was trying to hide his face from hers.

 

“My apologies, Lady Florence,” he murmured.

 

She took a moment to compose herself, wondering if the guilt she felt was written clearly across her face.

 

“No, Lord Alfred, I should be the one to apologise,” she responded, as calmly as she could manage. “For I fear I have been monopolising Edward these past few hours.”

 

He glanced at her for a split second, and she wondered if she was imagining the look of resentment in his eyes.

 

“Anyway, it is your turn now. You may go in to him, if you like,” she said, trying to smile.

 

He looked at her as though he hardly dared to believe it. Then, he bowed to her swiftly once more, and darted into the room.

She watched him as he pulled the chair she had been sitting in closer to the bed, and sat down next to Edward, staring at him intently.

_Yours, Alfred._

She shook her head once more at her own ridiculous paranoia, and turned away, closing the door on the pair of them.

 

***

 

For Alfred, the next five days were more agonising than any he had ever lived through.

He had been somewhat shocked, that first day, at Florence’s reaction when she had found him outside Edward’s room. He _knew_ he shouldn’t have been hovering outside absurdly like that, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. He _needed_ to be in there with Edward.

He had cursed himself for a fool as she had started back in alarm, staring at him, fully expecting her to react in cold anger - he would have done the same, in her position.

But she hadn’t. She had looked at him a little strangely, before apologising - sincerely, it had sounded like - for keeping him away from Edward. And then she had invited him to go in.

He had just stared at her for a moment, scarcely able to believe it, and then he had rushed in to sit with the man he loved. He was so far beyond rational thought by that point that he had only barely restrained himself from curling up next to him and burying his face in his chest, even though he knew the door was still wide open and Florence was still watching.

 

But, if he had been beyond rational thought on that first day, it was surely nothing to how he was feeling now.

Everyone who had come to visit on that first day, apart from he and Florence, had gone home, exhausted, though Peel and Mrs Drummond had come back in once a day to check on Edward.

He and Florence, though, had stayed at the hospital for the last five days, taking it in turns to sit by Edward’s bedside whenever the doctors allowed them to stay in the room. He felt his stomach twist itself into jealous knots every time he forced himself to get up and leave Edward with Florence - but he supposed he needed _some_ respite for food and sleep, or he would completely lose even the tiny sliver of sanity he was holding on to.

 

Sometimes, though, he wondered if he was too late.

Perhaps this was what insanity felt like, he thought, as he desperately tried to keep his voice light and merry as he chatted to an unresponsive Edward, even as he felt his eyes burning with tears and he struggled to talk past the lump in his throat.

He had tried apologising to Edward for his own appalling behaviour, tried to explain, even though he knew Edward couldn’t hear him, perhaps wouldn’t ever hear him.

 

The doctors had forced both him and Florence out, as they had used their mysterious and frightening instruments to ensure that there were no shards of bullet lodged in Edward’s chest, and then sewn the skin around the wound back together. There was no longer a dark hole in his chest, but a small and vivid scar.

 

Part of him had been thankful to be shunted out of the room. He knew the doctors had no reliable methods for preventing pain, and although he knew that Edward was deeply unconscious and unlikely to feel anything, he could not bear the thought that he might be in agony and unable to cry for help.

 

There had been no change since the doctors had finished stitching the wound, three days ago.

They had assured him that they’d done everything they could. They had encouraged both him and Florence to talk to Edward as though he could hear them. But apparently, the only other thing they could do now was wait.

 

And now here he sat, for the fifth day in a row, gazing at Edward’s gorgeous face, willing him to open his eyes. He really didn’t know how much longer he could do this.

He placed a hand gently on Edward’s chest, over his heart, and closed his eyes in relief as he felt a heartbeat beneath his palm, faint, but definitely there.

His skin was soft and smooth, and Alfred wondered if he was merely imagining it, or if the burning fever had died down a little.

He was just so beautiful, lying there.

 

Alfred turned quickly to make sure there was nobody about to enter the room, not a doctor and certainly not Florence.

Seeing no one, Alfred turned back to Edward and stroked his thumb gently over his soft cheek. Then, even though he knew it was reckless and dangerous and anybody could come in at any moment, he bent down and pressed a lingering kiss to Edward’s smooth forehead.

He sighed and pulled back. It was hopeless.

 

But then...no, he was only imagining what he wanted to see.

Had Edward just stirred?

He stared, his heart in his throat, reluctant to believe his own eyes.

 

It seemed he was _not_ imagining things. Edward’s eyelashes fluttered slowly for a moment, and then, _finally_ , Alfred found himself looking into those familiar, molten chocolate eyes.

 

Edward blinked a few more times, and met his gaze, his dark eyes hazy and somewhat unfocused. The man he loved smiled blearily at him, as though he was just waking up from a long and restful sleep.

 

“Alfred?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for a reunion between the boys - as well as some more Florence...
> 
> Comments and kudos make my day!  
> Thank you, again, to everyone who has been lending their support so far - you make this fic even more fun to write! <3 <3 xxx


	9. Confessions and Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward is awake - and he has a lot of things to discuss...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I present to you a chapter that is *somewhat* reasonable in length!
> 
> Being written by me, this chapter is not entirely free of angst and drama - but there is also a very substantial amount of fluff! Enjoy!

Edward blinked rapidly, dazed and disoriented.

His mouth felt strange, as though he had not eaten or drunk anything for days. His skin felt as though it was burning, and his chest throbbed with pain.

 

When he opened his eyes, everything else seemed to fade away. Alfred was staring at him, shock written across his face.

 

He had absolutely no idea what was going on, or where he was.  But, if Alfred was really here with him, then he knew he was safe.

 

“Alfred,” he said, smiling at him drowsily as relief seeped through him.

 

There was a moment of silence. Then, Alfred made a strangled noise that sounded like a choked sob, and threw himself forwards onto Edward’s chest.

 

Edward winced sharply as a jolt of pain shot through him again.

 

“Oh!” Alfred exclaimed guiltily, drawing back immediately. “I’m sorry Edward, I’m so sorry! That was such a stupid thing to do! I just…”

 

Alarmed, Edward heard Alfred’s voice trembling, and saw those startlingly blue eyes fill with tears.

He tried to reach out to wipe the tears away, but his arms, his whole body, felt strangely stiff and heavy.

This time, Alfred carefully and gently cupped Edward’s face in his hands, as if he was something extraordinarily precious and delicate.

 

“I just can’t believe you’re really back,” he said in a choked whisper, sapphire eyes alight with happiness.

 

Edward frowned. Back? What did he mean, ‘back’?

Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from Alfred, and glanced around at his surroundings properly for the first time.

 

The room they were in was completely unfamiliar to him.

It seemed clean and tidy, but not in a particularly welcoming sort of way - it was sterile, austere. The light seemed to have a harsh, cool blue tone to it. He could not see any portraits or personal effects anywhere, which made it seem unlikely that they were in somebody’s home.

He glanced at the bedside table next to him, seeking more clues. There were a few mysterious and frightening metallic tools glinting there. He stared at them as understanding finally began to creep up on him.

Surgical instruments.

 

He looked back at Alfred.

 

“Under your shirt,” Alfred whispered.

 

Edward stared at him, and then looked down at the shirt he was wearing - that was completely unfamiliar too, somebody must have dressed him in it - and raised the hem up with clumsy, shaking hands.

 

Slowly, he looked down at his own chest, where the pain was throbbing dully.

There had never been any mark on his chest before - but now, it was marred by a small, vivid scar.

 

His breath hitched in his throat. He was damaged.

Alfred reached out hesitantly and traced the outline of the scar with his fingers, gently, reverently.

 

Edward felt tears sting his eyes. There was an unconditional acceptance and understanding in Alfred’s touch.

 

He looked back up to meet Alfred’s gaze.

 

“What do you remember, Edward?”

 

Edward closed his eyes, struggling to summon more details.

 

A small, reedy dark haired man...an ear splitting noise...a tearing, agonising pain…

 

He opened his eyes again, seeing gentle compassion in Alfred’s blue eyes.

 

“There was a gun, Alfred,” he whispered.

 

Alfred nodded slowly, tears brimming in his eyes again.

 

Edward looked at him. He needed to know more - but he didn’t want to cause Alfred any more pain.

 

“How long was I…” He couldn’t think of the word.

 

Alfred looked as though he was struggling to swallow. “Five days.”

 

Edward’s head was reeling. It was too much to take in.

 

“Oh,” he said.

 

“Did you….did you stay with me? All that time?”

 

Alfred stared at him, as though momentarily bewildered that he would ask such a question.

 

“Of course I stayed with you, Edward,” he choked out. “What else could I do?”

 

With trembling hands, Alfred cupped his face again, stroking his thumbs over Edward’s cheekbones hesitantly, as though trying to convince himself Edward was really there.

 

“I didn’t know if you were going to come back,” he said, his voice trembling. “I thought...I thought I was losing my _mind_ , Edward…”

 

Edward stared at Alfred’s agonised face, as more memories came rushing back to him.

 

A candlelit dinner, with Alfred’s eyes suddenly cool and distant as a stranger’s. Alfred’s uncharacteristically harsh, brisk voice . _An indiscretion_.

He hadn’t been able to eat, he hadn’t been able to sleep. He remembered the pain of the past days all too clearly now; Alfred had convinced him that there was nothing between them, that he had been a lovestruck fool pining after a man who wanted nothing but a dalliance.

 

But that didn’t make any sense anymore, Edward thought.

The way Alfred was staring at him now, his eyes glistening with tears, still cupping Edward’s face in his hands.

The way Alfred had practically thrown himself at him when he’d awoken, gasping with relief, traced his new scar with trembling fingers.

The way his voice shook as he recounted staying at his bedside. For five days. Alfred had sat with him for _five days straight._

 

“I was on my way back to you, you know,” he murmured.

 

Alfred’s gaze traced over his face, relief shining in his eyes. His lips trembled slightly.

 

“I didn’t deserve it,” he mumbled.

 

Edward stared at him, seeing shame written all across his face.

 

“So...so it wasn’t true?” he asked hesitantly. “What you said...that night?”

 

Alfred laughed mirthlessly, bitterly, self loathing clear in his voice.

 

“True? Edward, it couldn’t have been further from the truth!” he exclaimed.

 

Edward felt his heart lifting, soaring.

 

“But then, why did you…?”

 

Alfred winced.

 

“I’m sorry, Edward, I’m so, so, sorry,” he whispered. “I was such an idiot.”

 

Edward frowned slightly. He hated hearing Alfred’s disgust at himself.

 

“What do you mean, Alfred?”

 

Alfred sighed.

 

“Lothian,” he said. “He came to the palace looking for you, Edward. He _threatened_ you.” His voice cracked.

 

Edward stared at him incredulously.

 

“Lothian? That’s all?”

 

He shook his head.

 

“Alfred, he came to my house, he tried to bully me, intimidate me. But you didn’t need to worry.” He lowered his voice slightly. “It’s not as if he _knows_.”

 

Alfred tensed.

 

“I know he doesn’t. But Edward, I was just so scared.”

 

His voice shook.

 

“I’m so sorry I lied to you. I was idiotic enough to think I could protect you by making you truly believe there was nothing...meaningful between us.”

 

He sighed.

 

“I was just....trying to keep you safe.”

 

Edward raised an eyebrow at that, and pointedly gestured to the vivid scar on his chest.

 

Alfred grinned a little reluctantly. “Point taken.”

 

He sighed again. “Please, can you stay out of trouble from now on, Edward? Just so that I don’t have a heart attack.”

 

Edward grinned at him sheepishly.

 

“I’ll try.”

 

Alfred chuckled, stroking his thumbs over Edward’s cheeks again.

 

“I love you so much, Edward.”

 

Edward felt his breath hitch in his throat.

 

“Truly? You really mean it?”

 

Alfred smiled at him softly. “I have never meant anything more.”

 

Edward stared at him, feeling tears welling in his eyes. He felt as though he had been waiting _years_ to hear Alfred say those words.

 

“Thank god,” he whispered. Alfred was still cradling his face, and he reached up to intertwine their fingers, stroking his thumb over the back of Alfred’s hand.

 

“I love you too. So, _so_ much.”

 

Alfred swallowed, his blue eyes shining with tears. He leaned in, and pressed his warm lips against Edward’s gently.

 

Edward sighed softly against Alfred’s mouth. He felt as though he could _taste_ the relief, the joy, the love on his lips. He tugged on Alfred’s shirt, pulling him as close as he could manage with his somewhat depleted strength, and kissed him back fiercely.

He never wanted to let him go.

 

Alfred was so close that Edward felt his chuckle reverberate through his chest.

 

“Calm down, my darling. You were shot - you need to rest.”

 

“To hell with rest,” Edward murmured against his lips.

 

He felt Alfred shiver slightly, and he grinned.

 

A knock at the door made them both freeze.

 

“Lord Alfred?”

 

Edward stared at Alfred. Why hadn’t he said anything about Florence being here? Alfred cursed under his breath.

 

“Alfred? How long has she been here?” he whispered.

 

Alfred sighed, avoiding his eyes. “Five days,” he admitted reluctantly. “The same as me. We were taking it in turns to sit with you.”

 

Florence had kept vigil by his bedside with Alfred? After he had been planning to put her aside? His eyes flicked towards the door, hot guilt rushing through him. He didn’t know how to respond to this.

 

There was another knock. “Lord Alfred?” Florence’s voice rang out again. “I thought I heard…”

 

Alfred closed his eyes, as though praying for patience. “Just a moment!” he called back.

 

He turned back to Edward, and kissed him softly on the forehead.

 

“I love you,” he whispered again, against Edward’s skin. “Just in case you’d forgotten.”

 

Edward whimpered a little as the man he loved straightened up and moved away. Alfred shot him a warning look, and he sighed and nodded.

 

He watched as Alfred carefully composed his face into his polite courtier’s smile, and went to open the door.

 

Florence was standing in the doorway, twisting her hands together awkwardly.

 

“I am sorry, Lord Alfred, I just thought that I heard…”

 

Her voice trailed off as she met Edward’s eyes. She stared at him.

 

“Edward,” she finished faintly.

 

He shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of her gaze. He tried to smile at her, wishing for the thousandth time that he had Alfred’s gift for dissembling.

 

“You did indeed hear him, Lady Florence,” Alfred said, bowing courteously.

“As you can see, Drummond is doing remarkably well - we have not waited in vain. I apologise for not coming to fetch you sooner; he was a little disoriented when he awoke. I have been catching him up on events.”

 

She hardly seemed to hear him. Her hazel eyes fixed on Edward’s, she began walking towards him like a woman in a trance. He pushed his curls out of his face awkwardly, suddenly immensely self-conscious and unsure what to do with his hands.

 

“I shall return later,” he heard Alfred mutter, his voice shaking slightly. The door slammed shut a little aggressively.

 

There was a silence as Florence slowly sank down next to the bed, in the chair that Alfred had just vacated.

She kept staring at Edward, as though wondering whether she were dreaming.

 

“You’re alright,” she said quietly.

 

He wasn’t sure what to say.

 

“Yes,” he responded.

 

She closed her eyes and breathed in, slowly, deeply. A tear rolled silently down her face.

 

Edward felt his stomach clench, and guilt begin to creep over his skin again.

 

God, he didn’t want to hurt her.

 

***

 

Five days. She had been waiting for Edward to wake up for _five days_ , getting more desperate with each passing moment.

 

Nobody else had stayed with Edward at the hospital this whole time - nobody except Lord Alfred.

 

They had been taking turns to sit with Edward, and every single time she had left the room to invite Lord Alfred in, she had found him already hovering, pale, eyes bloodshot, trembling as though he was on the brink of collapse. In theory, he was supposed to be getting some sleep while she kept watch over Edward, but it certainly didn’t look like he was getting any.

 

It was understandable, she supposed, that courtesy would hardly be Lord Alfred’s first priority at the moment. It wasn’t hers, either. But it seemed a little strange that, somehow, after spending five days with nothing else to distract themselves but waiting desperately for Edward to wake, Lord Alfred had still barely said three words to her since that first day. She felt she would have welcomed the chance to converse with Lord Alfred and get to know him a little better, even if just to distract herself from her fear for a little while - she remembered Wilhemina gushing about his wit and charm in that letter, his talent for easing others’ tension.

But, far from charming or soothing her, Lord Alfred had seemed to constantly avoid her eyes, dashing in to see Edward almost the moment she left his room. Even when the doctors had told them that neither of them could go in for a little while because they had to stitch Edward’s wound up, Lord Alfred had not sat with her, but had dashed off, muttering something about fetching food, and leaving her alone with her thoughts.

 

Florence felt an uneasy quiver in her stomach.

 _Yours, Alfred_.

 

She sighed and put her face in her hands. She was being stupid, paranoid. It was ridiculous of her to leap to the assumption that Lord Alfred disliked her for some reason - why, he didn’t even know her!

And as for that letter he had written to Edward, the one that had been in Edward’s coat - yes, it was informal, perhaps a little intimate, even, but what was there in that? The two men were close friends - why shouldn’t they speak informally?

She was just overwhelmed, Florence told herself firmly. She wasn’t thinking clearly, that was all.

She cast around desperately for something else to think of other than Lord Alfred, something that might soothe her. But it was no good. Her mind only came back to Edward again.

 

The doctors had told them to wait, that there was nothing else they could do. But it had been five days now, and still there had been no signs of Edward waking.

What if he just _didn’t_ wake? What if his heartbeat just gradually quietened and came to a stop, his eyes never opening again?

She put her hand to her mouth to stifle a moan.

 

She couldn’t believe, now, that she had been stupid enough to wish, even subconsciously, for an escape from her wedding with Edward.

So what if she didn’t think she was in love with him? What did she know of love, anyway? Barely anybody married for love - for most women, true love was just something that happened to heroines in novels.

 

If his heart stopped beating, if he went where neither she nor Lord Alfred could call him back….She flinched violently. God, she didn’t want to lose Edward - she wanted a second chance at knowing him.

 

And if she _were_ to lose him, if the five days she had sat here desperately praying for him to wake up had all been in vain...she would be allowed a mourning period of a few months, and then what? Her father would simply arrange a match for her with another rich man.

She knew he hated Edward, he would probably take the opportunity to find somebody he could more easily control, who shared his views...She shuddered. God, she wouldn’t put it past him to marry her off to some angry, bitter and violent widower friend who was the same age as him.

Was she destined to lose Edward Drummond - the best husband she could possibly have asked for, regardless of whether or not she was in love with him - and instead spend the rest of her years becoming a mirror image of her mother, creeping around trying to avoid her husband’s rage, always biting her tongue and afraid of her own shadow?

 

No, she couldn’t stand this. She stood up.

She needed to sit with Edward again, he still might wake up, even now.

Lord Alfred had been in there for a while - _surely_ it must be time for them to switch by now?

 

She walked over to the closed door of Edward’s room, reaching out to turn the handle as she had done countless times over the past five days - and froze.

 

She could hear the murmur of Lord Alfred’s voice from the other side of the door. There was nothing unusual in that, they’d both been told that talking to Edward might bring him back to consciousness.

But...was that...were there _two_ voices? She listened with bated breath, hardly daring to believe her ears.

There could be no mistaking it. One of those voices was Lord Alfred’s. The other, deep, melodious and warm, was Edward’s.

Heart leaping, she reached out to turn the handle - but she paused.

She did not know exactly why, but something told her not to intrude in such a way. She drew her hand back, swallowed, and knocked gently.

 

‘Lord Alfred?’ she asked hesitantly.

 

The voices abruptly went silent. A pause. She heard urgent whispers, although she couldn’t make out the words.

 

Impatient anxiety began to rise up in her chest. She had no idea what they were saying, but if Edward was awake, she needed to see him. She needed to be sure she was not dreaming.

 

She knocked again, a little louder this time. “Lord Alfred?” she called out again. “I thought I heard…”

She hardly dared say his name aloud, in case she had only imagined his voice.

 

“Just a moment!” Lord Alfred’s voice called back to her, sounding almost...peeved.

 

She felt her indignation rise. Why did he need ‘a moment’ - how difficult was it to open the door? She needed to see Edward!

 

She reached for the handle, but before her fingers made contact, the door abruptly opened and she came face to face with Lord Alfred once more.

She jumped back slightly.

He was looking at her with a polite smile, but his smile did not reach his eyes. She thought she could see something like irritation there. She twisted her hands together awkwardly, not wanting him to realise that she’d been about to walk in despite his request that she wait.

 

“I am sorry, Lord Alfred. I just thought that I heard…”

 

Her voice trailed off as she stared past him.

Edward was really awake, he even looked as though he was struggling to sit up. He was looking back at her with those warm dark eyes.

 

“Edward,” she said faintly.

 

Lord Alfred was saying something to her, but she couldn’t seem to take in the words. She was walking towards Edward without conscious thought, tracing her eyes over his face.

He looked as unsure as she felt, shifting slightly and sweeping his thick curls out of his face.

Strange that she had sat with him when he had been so pale and still, hovering on the brink - and yet he looked almost more vulnerable now.

 

Lord Alfred muttered something that she did not catch, and she heard the door slamming rather harshly shut behind him.

 

She sank down into the chair next to Edward’s bed, not trusting her legs to support her. She could not seem to tear her eyes away from his face. He was no longer pale as marble - in fact, he was starting to blush scarlet as she stared at him.

She wasn’t entirely convinced that she wasn’t dreaming - perhaps Lord Alfred was about to come and wake her up for her shift so she could fruitlessly pray for Edward to wake up, yet again.

 

“You’re alright,” she whispered.

 

He looked back at her. “Yes,” he said quietly.

 

She inhaled deeply at that, forcing air back to her lungs and brain for what seemed the first time in days.

Edward was alive, he was really going to be alright. She had not lost him.

 

She suddenly felt the weight of all the emotions she had been bottling up inside her over the past five days. Guilt, paranoia, anxiety and fear mingled with a new and overwhelming sense of relief, and she felt tears rolling down her cheek before she could wipe them away.

 

“Florence,” Edward exclaimed, sounding alarmed. “Please, please don’t cry...I _am_ alright, I promise!”

 

“I know...I’m sorry,” she whispered, impatiently trying to wipe her tears away. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you with tears, I’m sure you’re feeling overwhelmed enough as it is. It’s just...I was so scared, Edward.”

 

He looked at her, compassion in his dark eyes.

 

“I was _so_ scared. I thought I’d lost you,” she said, horrified to hear how her voice cracked.

 

There was silence for a moment as she struggled to get her breathing under control, and he traced his eyes across her face.

 

“Lord Alfred told me that you stayed here at the hospital for five days,” he said quietly. “You didn’t go home to rest with Mother even once. Is that true?”

 

She nodded, a little surprised. Although it seemed a nasty thought, for some reason she had half expected Lord Alfred not to tell Edward that.

 

He looked at her, shocked gratitude in his eyes.

 

“Why? Why didn’t you go to get some proper rest, or food?”

 

She stared at him. Surely, the answer was obvious?

 

“Because...because I couldn’t bear to leave. I needed to know that you were not worsening, I needed to be here to make sure the doctors were doing absolutely _everything_ they could. I needed to know that you would be safe.”

 

He looked at her in astonishment, as if it had not occurred to him that she would care so much.

 

“Edward, you were so sick, and I had nothing to do but sit here and wait, alone with my thoughts. And I didn’t know if you were going to get better, and I just kept thinking how... _bleak_ my life would be, if I lost you.”

 

He stared at her. There was gratitude in his dark eyes, affection - and something else, too. Something harder to read.

 

“I’m not a fool, Edward, I know that you proposed to me, and I accepted, because our families wished it. Marriage is never quite as romantic as novelists would have us think. But when I think what sort of man my father might have chosen for me…”

 

She swallowed, feeling nauseous.

 

“I think you know full well, as do I, that my father cares not one jot for my happiness, nor even that much for my safety. His only requirement is that my husband is rich enough to help him pay off his debts. Edward, if you had...had slipped away,” she said, her voice starting to shake, “I would be lost. God only knows who my father would have married me off to. One of his friends, perhaps. Someone he thought would be able to control me. I might have spent the rest of my life living in fear, terrified of my husband’s rage. Like my mother.”

 

It was becoming hard to talk past the lump in her throat. She felt tears on her face again. Edward gazed at her with pity in his eyes.

 

“Edward,” she choked out, “I know that we have...drifted, a little, since we were children. But I still know well that you are the kindest, bravest, most decent husband a woman could ever ask for. You cannot have changed _so_ much since you were a boy. You are just more handsome now. And taller.”

 

He chuckled a little at that.

 

She breathed in deeply, wondering how to phrase what she needed to tell him.

 

“This marriage is convenient for both of our families. But please don’t assume that is the only reason I want to marry you. I feel _so_ lucky that, out of all the women you could have chosen, _I_ am the one you proposed to. I care for you, Edward. Deeply.”

 

He stared at her, his dark eyes full of gratitude and affection.

“I care for you deeply, too,” he said quietly.

 

She smiled at him, her eyes welling with tears again, and stretched out her hand to him hesitantly.

For an awkward moment, he just looked at her, as though he was not quite sure what he should do. Then, trembling a little, he reached out and squeezed her hand gently.

It felt a little strange, her small hand in his large palm. She could not say that her heart sped up particularly, or her face grew warm, as she had read about in her novels. But it was still nice. Comforting, somehow. As though they had reached some kind of understanding between them.

 

“I really am sorry that I didn’t write to tell you I was in Scotland,” he said. “I was overwhelmed - but that isn’t an excuse. It was churlish of me.”

 

“I think you angered Father more than me, actually,” she said, grinning.

 

“Ah,” he said. “Well, I believe I will manage to struggle on, even through the heartbreak of causing your father pain.”

 

She laughed.

 

“I’m sorry, too,” she responded. “I’m sorry if I have seemed...cool, or distant, recently. I have just been rather nervous about the wedding. Just because I don’t really know how to act, or what to do. And it all seems to be coming on us so fast, doesn’t it?”

 

She felt his hand tense suddenly around hers, and his eyes flicked towards the door.

 

She wasn’t sure how to respond to this, and so decided to pretend she hadn’t noticed.

 

“Although I suppose we might have to postpone it now, what with everything that’s happened,” she said thoughtfully, gesturing to the hospital bed he was lying in.

 

“Yes,” he said distractedly, as though he had not really taken in what she’d said. “Florence, I’m sorry - I wonder if you could send Lord Alfred back in for a few moments? There is something I had forgotten to tell him...a message I need him to pass on.”

 

She looked at him, a little taken aback. Hadn’t he just been speaking to Lord Alfred? Why did she have the sudden feeling she was being dismissed - what could be so private about this message?

Edward was avoiding her eyes again now.

 

She stood up. “I will fetch him,” she said, a little more peevishly than she had intended.

 

***

 

Alfred was pacing up and down outside Edward’s room.

 

He felt deeply uneasy leaving Edward alone with Florence, particularly after the way she had _stared_ at him when she came in.

He could hear their voices murmuring through the door, but he could not make out any of the words. Not that he was trying to, of course…

 

What _on earth_ could be taking them so long? He seethed with impatience.

 

He was just wondering if he should knock with some excuse, when the door suddenly opened and Florence came out.

 

There were tear tracks on her face. He really wasn’t sure what to make of that.

 

“Edward is asking to see you again, Lord Alfred,” she told him somewhat stiffly.

 

He heard the edge of anger in her voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to care too much as he darted back into the room and closed the door behind him.

 

He stood silently with his back against the door for a second, listening to make sure she had moved away.

Once he heard her footsteps receding, he released a sigh and strode over to Edward.

 

He leaned down and, cradling Edward’s face in his hands once more, pressed a fierce kiss to his mouth.

“I missed you,” he whispered against his lips.

He felt Edward’s smile. “Alfred, we can’t have been apart for more than twenty minutes, thirty at most.”

“Thirty minutes too long,” he whispered back, kissing him again.

 

“Alfred...wait,” Edward sighed.

 

“I just waited, Edward,” he responded.

 

“I have to tell you something!”

 

“I’m listening,” Alfred murmured, even as he dropped more kisses onto Edward’s lips.

 

Edward rolled his eyes and closed his hands around Alfred’s wrists, gently prising him off.

 

“This is important, Alfred. It’s about Florence.”

 

Alfred froze. He stared at Edward, trying to read his expression. Slowly, he sat down in the chair next to the bed.

 

“Alright. I really am listening now. I promise.”

 

Edward sighed. He looked as though he wasn’t sure how to start. But the anxiety in his dark eyes was all too familiar.

 

“You know when I told you, in Ciros, that I was breaking off my engagement? And you tried to tell me that I shouldn’t?”

 

Alfred winced at the reminder of how he had behaved that night.

 

“Edward, I was trying to protect you,” he muttered.

“But it’s true that breaking it off might not be wise,” he said reluctantly, pain ripping through him as he said it. “The damage it could wreak on your reputation, your career...not to mention what Lothian might do if he found out the true cause…”

 

He winced again. He _really_ didn’t want to think about this.

 

“Alfred,” Edward said softly. “You were right. That I shouldn’t break it off.”

 

Alfred stared at him, hot tears pricking at his eyes. He had so often been frustrated by Edward’s stubborn recklessness, even as he adored it. He had never realised that Edward cooperating with him would hurt this much.

 

Edward reached out to cup his face apologetically, stroking the tears away.

 

“But it’s not for the reasons you said,” he continued. “At least, there are more important reasons.”

 

“Like what?” Alfred whispered. His chest was starting to feel constricted again.

 

“Florence stayed here waiting for me to wake, Alfred, just as you did. She was so worried about me. And I meant what I said in Scotland. I care for her deeply.”

 

Alfred flinched as a stab of pain shot through his chest. He tried to turn away, but Edward held his face firmly in his hands, and pressed a lingering, reassuring kiss to his lips. “I promise you that doesn’t mean I’m in love with her, Alfred,” he whispered. “I’m so in love with you, I don’t think I could ever have any room left to spare for anyone else.”

 

Alfred looked back at him, trembling as he felt his heart turn over in his chest.

 

“But the thing is, Alfred, if I were to throw Florence off, neither of us could predict what kind of man her father would give her to,” Edward whispered.

“He cares not a fig about her safety or happiness, as long as there is money rolling in from her husband. He might marry her to a drunkard, a brute...Alfred, what if Florence had to marry a man who beat her, or raged at her, or forced himself on her?”

 

He shuddered, and Alfred saw the fear in his eyes, as well as that beautiful gleam that was so familiar to him, the gleam he got when he was absolutely determined to do the right thing.

 

“Alfred, if I had the chance to save her from such horrors, and I didn’t...I don’t think I could live with myself. I can’t give her everything she deserves, she deserves someone who loves her as passionately as I love you. But she stayed with me when I was in need, and I can’t humiliate her, or worse, endanger her, by casting her aside.

I will be kind to her, and I will try my hardest to protect her.”

 

Alfred stared at him. Really, why did he have to go and fall in love with the kindest, most moral and selfless man in the universe?

Edward was looking back at him pleadingly.

 

“I am so sorry to cause you pain, my darling. I _hate_ hurting you. And this will hardly be easy for me. But I must marry her. Can you forgive me? Please?”

 

Alfred sighed and leaned forwards to kiss him fiercely, winding his hands into Edward’s curls.

 

“Is that a yes?” Edward whispered when they broke apart.

 

“You must be the most thoughtful, kind and caring man to have ever existed,” he said conversationally. “And the bravest,” he added, pointing to Edward’s chest where it was marked by the new scar.

“And if you truly love me even half as much as I love you, then I must be the luckiest man to have ever existed. For it seems to me that neither I, nor Florence, nor anyone else in the world, will ever fully deserve you.”

 

Edward blushed a deep scarlet.

 

“ _And_ you’re ridiculously beautiful,” Alfred added. “Honestly, Edward, can’t you leave any virtues for anyone else?”

 

“Stop it!” Edward exclaimed, burying his face in Alfred’s shoulder. “I could say the same thing about you!”

 

Alfred grinned, stroking his hair and revelling in the softness of his curls. “Only if you were a lovestruck idiot.”

 

They stayed like that for a few moments, Edward breathing in Alfred’s scent while Alfred gently stroked his hair.

 

Alfred sighed. He knew what he needed to ask, but that did not make it any easier.

 

“Edward?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“If you really are going to get married....what’s going to happen to us?”

 

Edward looked up at him, intelligent dark eyes tracing over Alfred’s face.

 

“I don’t know, exactly. All I know is that I love you, Alfred, more than anything in the world, and I won’t abandon you. I promise. I will make this work, somehow.”

 

Alfred looked back at him, wondering how it was possible to love another person this much.

 

“Does that sound...acceptable?”

 

Alfred grinned, leaning his forehead against Edward’s. “It does."   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be taking a little break before I start work on Chapter 10, just to ensure all future major plots are lined up and ready to go! We have some new characters waiting in the wings!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the brief respite from angst - and thank you, as always, to all the people who give comments and feedback, you inspire me to keep writing!! <3 <3


	10. Taking Care of Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward is home from hospital, and finding himself in popular demand...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a relatively short chapter!   
> Edward has agreed to marry Florence, and Alfred has accepted his decision - but have either of them really thought this through?

“Another blanket, Edward?”

 

“No, really, Florence, I’m alright…”

 

“I really think you should have another blanket, Edward, it’s chilly in here and you’re still recovering. Here.” 

 

Edward sighed as Florence flung yet another blanket over him. In the chair opposite, Alfred gave her a look of pure resentment. Edward tried to shoot him a warning look, but he did not seem to notice. 

 

_ Finally _ , after testing his reflexes and listening to his heartbeat and asking him so many questions that Edward had almost felt he was on trial, the doctors had let him go home. 

 

He and Florence had discussed the wedding, and, after everything that had happened, had decided to postpone it for another month. 

Even though he had made a conscious decision to go through with it, Edward was still terrified about getting married, and about...everything that came afterwards. But now that the date had been pushed back, he felt that a burden had been lifted off his shoulders somewhat. 

At least now, he had a bit more time to come to terms with it all. 

And, no matter what he told Florence and Alfred, he certainly wasn’t feeling strong enough yet to deal with any wedding, much less his own. 

 

He hadn’t been allowed to go back to work yet, though he’d already been home for over a week. He  _ hated  _ feeling useless, especially when there was so much happening. 

Sir Robert had seemed close to weeping with joy when he had been given the news of Edward’s recovery, which had touched Edward greatly, and he had written to him regularly since he had come home. 

According to Peel, although they could be proud of achieving victory with the repeal, there was still a great deal of hostile murmuring against him from the other Tories, and the Whigs, sensing dissent, were circling like sharks that could smell blood. 

 

Peel had also brought him news of the man who had fired the bullet, leaving him with the scar he would now carry for the rest of his life. 

The reedy little dark haired man that Edward remembered so vividly had apparently been seized and taken for questioning while he himself was being carried to hospital on a stretcher. 

Sir Robert had said that the man’s name was Daniel M’Naghten. The police were not sure he was entirely sane, as he seemed to believe that the whole Tory party were plotting to kill him, and that he had shot in self-defence.

But Sir Robert had told Edward that, if M’Naghten’s sanity could be proved, he would be facing the gallows. Edward shuddered again at the thought; although the man was obviously unhinged, it did not sit well with him that another man might die on his account. 

 

Alfred’s reaction had been different. He had been standing with Edward when Sir Robert had told them that M’Naghten might hang, and the set of his jaw and the steely glint in his eyes had unnerved Edward a little - he had never seen such a merciless expression on his love’s face. 

When Edward had asked uneasily if he was well, Alfred had simply responded that no punishment was too great for the man who had endangered his life. 

 

Alfred had stayed at his side almost constantly since he had returned home and, as Edward loathed feeling like an invalid, it was a blessed relief to have his company. Although, as Florence had also refused to leave his side, he could hardly pretend he was getting as much rest and relaxation as the doctors had recommended. 

 

Florence was insisting on fussing over him continuously, and for the most part he let her; it seemed to make her happy. 

Alfred sat more quietly, but Edward kept catching him glaring at Florence, looking as though he was strongly considering pushing her aside and taking all her blankets, hot drinks and medicines out of her hands so that he could administer them himself. 

He realised how difficult this must be for Alfred, particularly considering the conversation they had had in the hospital. But that was no reason for him to look hatefully at Florence when she was just trying to help - and besides, they certainly could not afford for Florence to become suspicious about his hostility. 

He kept trying to catch Alfred’s eye, so he could silently reprimand him - but either he was being ignored, or Alfred was too busy seething to even notice. 

 

Edward had gently told Florence, repeatedly, that he was alright, that there was no need for any of this - but she seemed only to be getting more determined. Perhaps it was something to do with feeling Alfred’s stare on her. 

As he surfaced from his thoughts, he realised that he couldn’t even remember the last time Florence had sat down.

She was practically running herself off her feet, fetching him things that he did not need. She was already turning away to fetch him something else - and Edward suddenly realised that she was desperately trying to avoid his eyes. 

He reached up, grasping her arm gently before she could walk away again. She turned to him, her hazel eyes wide with anxiety. 

 

“I really am alright, Florence,” he said quietly. “Are you?” 

 

She looked as though he’d caught her out. She swallowed, eyes darting over his face. She opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated, her gaze flickering uncomfortably towards Alfred.

Alfred, sensing her eyes on him, looked at Edward as though waiting for him to intervene. Edward looked back at him apologetically. He needed to know what was wrong with Florence, and she clearly was not willing to speak about it with Alfred in the room. 

 

Alfred looked like was struggling to hold in a sigh. He gave a small and sardonic bow to Florence, and shot Edward a dark look that clearly told him he was going to be in trouble later, before turning and leaving the room, closing the door somewhat harder than necessary. 

 

“Sit down, Florence,”  Edward said gently. “Please.”

 

She obeyed, her hands shaking slightly. Edward took them in his, trying to calm her. 

 

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” he said quietly. 

 

She looked at him, fear in her eyes. 

 

“I just...I want to be a good wife to you, Edward,” she said hesitantly. “But I’m still so nervous. I’m nervous about the wedding, I don’t know what to do to take care of you…” 

 

“I’m nervous, too,” he admitted. She could have no idea how true that was. 

“But you’ve done a wonderful job taking care of me, Florence.”

 

Florence sighed. “I know it’s difficult when you’ve been injured like this, Edward. But I would really like the chance to...get to know you better, or get to know you again, before we get married. We are going to be together for the rest of our lives, we should at least figure out how to be alone together.”

 

Edward tried not to flinch at the bleak thought of hiding, of lying for the rest of his life. Florence continued speaking, staring down at her hands, as though she had not noticed.

 

“And Edward, I realise that Lord Alfred is your closest friend and he has been very worried about you, but you must admit it is a little difficult to prepare ourselves for this wedding, when he is here with us so often…” 

 

His heart leapt into his throat. 

Why hadn’t it occurred to him before that Florence would find Alfred’s presence strange, even overwhelming? He himself found Alfred’s presence so comforting and reassuring, it was odd to think of him making someone else feel nervous and on edge. 

 

“Florence…” he started.

 

“Perhaps...perhaps if we were to go away somewhere before the wedding, Edward? Just for a few days? The doctors did tell you to rest, and I think some time away from the grime and noise of London might do us both a world of good.” 

  
  


“Yes, that sounds an excellent idea,” he responded hurriedly, barely thinking. Anything to stop her from thinking about Alfred too much. 

“I am sorry if you have been feeling overwhelmed, Florence. Of course, we can spend some time away. Just the two of us.” 

 

She smiled at him a little tearfully, relief written across her face, and got up, putting her arms around him gently. Not expecting this, Edward patted her back a little awkwardly. 

It was nothing like Alfred’s embrace, which seemed to make his whole body flare up with warmth and electricity. 

 

He was jolted out of his thoughts abruptly by a sound from outside the room. 

It was Alfred’s voice. It sounded like a choked, quickly stifled sob. He heard footsteps rapidly moving further away from the door, and then the sound of the front door opening and quickly slamming shut. 

 

Edward’s heart sunk.  _ Oh god.  _

 

***

 

Edward had explained all the reasons he was going to marry her, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. 

 

After the wedding, Florence would be sharing Edward’s name, his house, his bed...Alfred flinched violently at the thought. 

He knew his stupidly noble Edward was marrying her because he wanted to protect her - but had he really, truly, thought this through? Marriage, and  _ everything  _ it entailed? 

 

He had been desperately trying to reassure himself with the reminder that this marriage would protect Edward, too, make him far safer from Lothian’s suspicions. 

 

But it was certainly hard to relax when that wretched woman insisted on  _ hovering  _ over Edward like that, all the time, fetching him endless blankets, cushions, food…

He was perfectly capable of nursing Edward just as well as her - probably a damn sight better, in fact. 

But apparently, it was not his place to nurse the man he loved - that was his fiance’s prerogative, it seemed. 

 

He could feel Edward’s disapproving gaze on him every time he glared at her, but, although he knew he was being absurd, he did not meet his eyes. 

It was easy for Edward to silently implore him to behave - Edward did not have this hot, sickening feeling of jealousy deep in the pit of his stomach, he would not be forced to live with this feeling for years on end. 

 

Still, for Edward’s sake, he had continued sitting by his side, struggling to resist both the urge to take him in his arms, and the urge to push his fiance from the room, closing the door firmly behind her. 

 

Perhaps, though, he had been a little  _ too  _ accommodating - he had not imagined that  _ he  _ would have to leave on Florence’s account! 

When Edward had asked her if she was alright,  _ she  _ had had the audacity to look at him pointedly, as though  _ he  _ was the one making everything uncomfortable! And when he had looked at Edward for help, all he had got in return was an apologetic and helpless look! He’d had no choice but to leave them alone together,  _ again.  _

_ Why _ did Edward have to pander to her so much? 

 

He knew that he should leave the two of them to their private conversation in peace - but he couldn’t bring himself to do that. 

He was pacing outside the room, waiting for Edward to let him back in again, his impatience mounting by the second. 

Perhaps  _ she  _ should learn what it felt like to be shut out. What was it she needed to tell Edward that couldn’t be said in front of him, anyway? 

 

No, he’d been stuck out here long enough. His hand hovered over the door handle as he considered just walking back in, Florence be damned. But he stopped himself, thinking of Edward and the helpless look of apology in his eyes.  This was hard for him too. The last thing he wanted was to make Edward disappointed in him. 

 

He was just about to walk away, when he distinctly heard Florence saying his name. 

He froze. Did she somehow know he’d been about to walk in? 

Temptation and curiosity overwhelmed him, and he leant closer to the door, listening hard. 

 

“...is your closest friend and he has been very worried about you,” she was saying, “but you must admit, it is a little difficult to prepare ourselves for this wedding, when he is here with us so often.” 

 

He felt a visceral anger. How dare she speak like that, as if he had no right to be here, as if Edward was  _ hers _ ? 

 

“Perhaps...perhaps if we were to go away somewhere before the wedding, Edward?” she continued.  “Just for a few days? The doctors did tell you to rest, and I think some time away from the grime and noise of London might do us both a world of good.” 

 

He clenched his fists. If she thought she was going to take Edward away from him before the wedding had even happened…

 

He heard Edward’s melodious voice, speaking so quickly that he was almost cutting her off. 

 

“Yes, that sounds an excellent idea. I am sorry if you have been feeling overwhelmed, Florence. Of course, we can spend some time away. Just the two of us.” 

 

Alfred felt his breath catch painfully in his throat. 

It sounded as if Edward was  _ agreeing  _ with her, conceding that Alfred was the one who had been getting in their way, making a nuisance of himself. 

_ Perhaps he has a point _ , Alfred told himself harshly.  _ After all, here you are, listening at the door. You can’t leave him be for a moment.  _

And Edward was agreeing to go on a trip with her. Obviously, she meant a romantic time away, so that they could prepare for the wedding. 

Surely, Edward knew what she meant? And yet he had still agreed. 

Edward had readily agreed to go away with Florence. To leave him behind. 

 

He hadn’t expected this. 

 

His heart was pounding,  the room seemed to be spinning. A strangled sob escaped him, and he shoved his fist to his mouth, his chest shaking, knowing they could probably hear him. 

 

He couldn’t do this. He needed to get out of here.

 

Hardly knowing what he was doing, he staggered towards the front door, letting it slam behind him as he fled into Edward’s garden. 

 

If they wanted to be left alone together, then so be it.

 

***

 

Florence frowned as she heard a quickly stifled sob, followed by rapid footsteps and the front door slamming.

She broke away from Edward. 

 

“Was that…?”

 

She stared at the door in confusion and alarm, and then looked back at Edward.

 

He did not look surprised. There was guilt and worry etched plainly across his face, his dark eyes full of remorse. 

 

What was going on? 

 

She opened the door of the drawing room, looking out into the hall to be sure she was not imagining things. 

 

Lord Alfred was gone. 

 

No words, no explanations or apologies for leaving. 

 

After so many days waiting for Edward to wake up, and then days after that when he  _ still  _ refused to leave Edward’s side - why would he leave so abruptly now? 

 

She turned back to Edward, wondering if he could shed some light for her. 

 

He was already hurrying towards the front door. 

 

***

 

Edward cursed himself, hot guilt roiling in his stomach.

 

Of course he should have known, with that dark look Alfred had given him as he’d left the room, that he would be listening outside. 

He knew how difficult Alfred found it, leaving Florence alone with him.

 

He tried to imagine how it must have sounded, from Alfred’s perspective, to hear him so readily agreeing to go away with Florence for days, leaving Alfred behind in London. 

He hadn’t even defended Alfred’s right to stay with him, when Florence had insinuated that Alfred should leave them alone, so desperate had he been to distract her - no doubt Alfred had heard that part of the conversation too…

 

“Was that….?” Florence started to speak, sounding bewildered.

She opened the drawing room door, and together they peered out into the front hall. 

 

Alfred had left the house. 

 

When Edward had told Alfred, at the hospital, that he was going to go through with this wedding, he had made a promise not to abandon him. 

Had his hasty, careless words just now caused Alfred to believe that Edward was already breaking his promise? 

He thought of Alfred, running out of the house, feeling overwhelmed, lost and betrayed, and he felt as though a fist was squeezing his insides. He almost gasped out loud. 

 

Surely, there had been enough painful miscommunications between them already.

If he had hurt the man he loved, then he needed to find him, to repair the damage,  _ now _ . 

 

He started for the front door. 

 

“Edward, what do you think you’re doing?” Florence asked. 

 

He gritted his teeth, trying to remind himself that this was not her fault. 

He turned to her, hoping that his guilt and worry was not too plain on his face. 

 

Alfred was usually careful, but it seemed he had been so hurt that he had not been thinking clearly, he had not stopped to consider how this might look to Florence.

Edward was going to have to cover for him somehow, although at the moment he wasn’t sure he was capable of thinking very clearly, either. 

 

“I was just going to go and check on Lord Alfred, Florence,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm.  “There must have been something that alarmed him, for him to dash off so suddenly; it is most unlike him. I just need to go and ensure that all is well with him.” 

 

“Edward, you were shot, you are supposed to be recovering!” she said indignantly. “The doctors recommended rest and relaxation - you cannot just go gallivanting around trying to find Lord Alfred when he leaves so abruptly!” 

 

He bit his tongue to keep himself from making an irritated retort. To hell with rest and relaxation; hadn’t he had enough of that over the past few days? 

The only thing he needed now was to find Alfred.

 

“Edward, if it is really so important to you,  _ I  _ will go after Lord Alfred and make sure he is well, if you promise to sit back down and…” 

 

Edward winced. Florence, trying to talk to Alfred and ask him what was ailing him?! 

He clamoured for an excuse. 

 

“Forgive me, Florence, but although I’m sure Lord Alfred is fond of you, he is not particularly familiar with you as of yet and I’m not sure he would feel comfortable…

If something is upsetting him, I believe he may feel more at ease discussing it with me.” 

 

She sighed, seeing the determination on his face. 

He thought he glimpsed a tiny hint of relief in her expression, mingled with her exasperation. He suspected that, despite her offer, she had not particularly relished the thought of trying to comfort Alfred.

 

“It’s cold out there, Edward, you are not dressed warmly enough. I don’t want you catching a chill. At least put on your coat.”

 

“Florence, I’ll be fine…”

 

“Wait there, I’ll get it,” she insisted, cutting him off. 

 

He sighed in frustration as she hurried off to the coat rack. This was wasting time, Alfred might have already got in his carriage and left!

 

She was back within a few moments, carrying his favourite, freshly cleaned burgundy coat, the one which he’d been wearing on the night he was shot. 

 

“Hurry back,” she said, helping him put the coat on. 

 

He was starting to become tired of her mollycoddling, particularly at this most inconvenient time, but he tried not to let his irritation show on his face. 

He  _ had  _ just been shot, he reminded himself; he supposed it was natural that she would act like this for a little while. 

 

“I will,” he responded.

 

Opening the front door, he finally hurried out into the fresh air for the first time in days. He was utterly determined to find Alfred. 

  
  


Thankfully, he did not have to go very far. 

As he ran out into the garden, towards the cast iron gate, he distinctly heard sobbing. The miserable sound tore at his insides. 

He turned to see Alfred leaning against an oak tree by the gate, struggling to breathe steadily, his eyes bloodshot. It appeared he had felt too overwhelmed to run any further. 

 

At the sound of Edward’s footsteps crunching over the leaves towards him, Alfred raised his head. 

Edward felt his heart contract painfully at the hurt in those beautiful blue eyes.

His fault. Alfred was hurting, and it was his fault. 

 

Glancing quickly behind him to ensure they were out of sight of the windows, he pulled Alfred gently into his arms. 

He kissed his hair, rubbing soothing circles on his back as Alfred struggled to control his sobs, pressing his face into Edward’s chest.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into Alfred’s hair. “I never meant to hurt you.”

 

“ _ She  _ wants me to leave you alone,” Alfred whispered against his chest. “Edward, she doesn’t want me here.” 

 

“Maybe  _ she  _ doesn’t,” he responded, tightening his arms around him and pressing another kiss to his hair. “But  _ I  _ do.

Alfred, you’re the only thing that’s been keeping me sane, these past few days. If it were up to me, you would be by my side all the time.” 

 

Alfred looked up at him, hurt still written across his face. 

 

“Then why did you agree to go away with her, just the two of you? 

Edward, you’re not even  _ married  _ yet” - his face twisted in revulsion as he said the word, as though it tasted bitter and vile in his mouth - “it’s not as if you’re under any obligation to do that.” 

 

Edward sighed, cupping Alfred’s face in his hands. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I just...panicked when she said your name. I thought maybe she suspected something. I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t thinking about you and I too much. That’s why I agreed to do what she wants.” 

 

Alfred was no longer crying, but he still did not look entirely calm. His eyes traced over Edward’s face. 

 

“So now you’re going away with her. Going away with your  _ fiance _ .” 

 

Edward’s heart went out to him as he saw the vulnerability in his eyes. He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against his lips.

 

“I know this is hard, my darling,” he murmured quietly. “I know you did not sign up for this. But it will only be for a few days, and I can certainly promise you we won’t be doing anything other than talking.”

 

Alfred looked at him, his lips trembling.

 

“And what about when you are married, Edward? What will the two of you be doing together then?” 

 

Edward flinched. 

Having Alfred in his arms, Alfred’s lips on his, their bodies pressed against each other, felt profoundly  _ right.  _

But the idea of doing that with Florence...he didn’t even want to think about it.

 

He buried his face in Alfred’s hair again, reassuring himself, breathing in that familiar, fresh rainwater scent that made him feel like he was home.

 

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” he muttered. 

 

He pulled back, cupping Alfred’s face again and looking into his eyes so that Alfred could not mistake his meaning. 

 

“Alfred, I promised in the hospital that I would never abandon you, and I intend to keep that promise,” he said firmly. 

“I am only going away with Florence for a few days, and only to reassure her, not because I am craving time alone with her. In fact, I will be missing you every moment that I am gone.”

 

He searched Alfred’s face, and his heart lifted as he saw that beautiful smile he had fallen in love with slowly beginning to reappear. 

 

He leaned in closer. 

 

“I love you more than anything in the world, Alfred. Is that clear?”

 

There was a moment’s pause. Then Alfred closed the distance between them, kissing him fiercely, desperately, running his tongue along Edward’s lips. 

 

Edward shivered and pressed him closer as he kissed him back. He felt Alfred’s smile against his lips. 

Gradually, their kisses mellowed until they were almost chaste, Alfred dropping light kisses onto his lips that were like the brush of a feather. 

 

They broke apart, their foreheads still pressed together. 

“I’ll try not to forget, in future,” Alfred murmured. 

 

Edward grinned at him. “Good.”

 

They stared at each other. Edward knew he needed to go back inside to Florence, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

 

Alfred sighed. “You should go,” he said reluctantly. 

 

“I know,” he said, slowly untangling himself from Alfred’s embrace. 

 

They traced their eyes hungrily over each other’s faces. 

 

Edward turned back towards the house, hesitated, and then turned back towards Alfred, pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

 

“I will see you soon,” he murmured against the smooth skin. “I won’t be gone long, Alfred, I swear.” 

 

“Well, that’s a relief,” Alfred responded, “seeing as I am already impatiently awaiting your return.”

 

Edward grinned at him.

 

Alfred’s expression became tender, and he reached forwards to gently brush his fingers over Edward’s shirt, where the new scar lay hidden underneath. 

 

“Take care of yourself,” he whispered. “For me.” 

 

Edward felt his heart skip a beat, and he took the hand that was tracing over his scar and raised it to his lips.

 

“I will,” he said. “I promise.” 

 

Their eyes met, holding each other’s gaze.

 

“Go,” Alfred whispered. 

  
  


***

 

“Well?” Florence asked, as soon as he came back inside. 

 

“Did you find Lord Alfred, Edward? Is all well with him?” 

 

He sighed internally. He really had no wish to discuss this with her. 

He tried to smile, knowing she was genuinely concerned. 

 

“He is well,” he responded. 

“I managed to catch up to him. Lord Alfred told me to send you his apologies for dashing off so quickly. Apparently, he had forgotten that he’d promised to take Her Majesty out riding, and he’d suddenly realised that he was running late. Her Majesty does not like to be kept waiting, as he knows from experience. He said he hopes you will forgive his rudeness.”

 

“I see,” she said, raising her eyebrows. 

 

Edward had the horrible feeling that she could see through his lie. 

He hoped she was not about to press him further on it; he was too tired to think of another explanation that would make sense. 

 

To his relief, she dropped the issue. 

 

“Edward, I was just considering where we might go away. I’ve heard say that The Lake District is stunning at this time of year. Perhaps if we were to go this weekend, that would give us a few days to get everything in order…”

 

“That sounds wonderful, Florence,” he said, cutting her off. 

“My apologies, but I find I am feeling a little fatigued. It’s alright, I don’t need you to fetch me anything,” he said hurriedly, forestalling her response. “I think I will just go up to my room and rest. Perhaps we may discuss this further tomorrow?” 

“Of course, Edward,” she said hastily. “If you’re sure you don’t need anything else…?”

 

“Perfectly sure,” he said, trying to smile at her. He knew she was only trying her best to adjust before the wedding. 

“I cannot thank you enough for all you have done to help me already.” 

 

She smiled back, and he thought he saw relief in her expression again. 

 

“I will see you tomorrow, then. Sleep well, Edward.”

 

“Good night, Florence.” 

 

As she closed the door behind her, he trudged up the stairs to his bedroom. 

It was a relief to have a moment to himself. 

 

He had told Florence he was fatigued because he did not feel he could face talking about their trip right now, but he was suddenly realising it had been more true than he’d thought. 

Taking care of both Alfred and Florence was already proving to be a struggle.

 

He took his burgundy coat off and hung it up, thinking fondly of Alfred’s scandalised face when he had suggested that they use it as a picnic blanket in France. 

He thought of Alfred’s lips pressing fiercely against his, and could not quite believe how far they had come. 

This coat really did have a lot of memories attached to it, he thought as he absentmindedly ran his fingers over the soft sleeves. He was glad it had not been destroyed or irreparably damaged on the night of the Corn Law repeal. So much had happened to him that night…

 

He froze as a thought suddenly occurred to him. 

 

The doctors had stripped off his shirt and his coat when he had been brought in unconscious that night, and they had only given him back all his own clothes on the day he was dismissed. 

But did that mean…

 

He rummaged desperately through all the pockets of the coat. 

 

The letter. Alfred’s letter was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we'll be taking a trip with Edward and Florence as they get to know each other a little better - and perhaps we'll be discovering a bit more about their childhood together too...
> 
> The countdown to the wedding has begun!
> 
> Comments and kudos give me life <3 <3 I can't wait to show you guys more of this story! Xxx


	11. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Florence take a trip to the Lake District and do some reminiscing about their childhood, as promised. 
> 
> Meanwhile, Alfred is getting rather impatient back in London...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance, this chapter got quite a bit darker than anticipated! But I swear, there is still fluff!
> 
> And I promise, Chapter 12 will be almost entirely fluff - amongst other things ;)

“Surely not! All over your schoolmaster’s head?!”

Edward nodded, tears of laughter in his eyes.

“All over my schoolmaster’s head. The bucket was positioned so that, just as soon as he opened the door of our dormitory....there was a loud thud, and before he knew what was happening, there he was, covered in all the revolting leftover slops he had been trying to force William to eat! You should have seen the look on his face…”

Florence pressed a hand to her mouth, scandalised amusement written all over her face as she tried to hold her mirth at bay. But it was no use - almost immediately, she doubled over, howling with laughter in a most unladylike manner.

Edward joined her, the two of them laughing so hard they were gasping for air.

Edward sensed his mother looking at them from her folding lawn chair on the grass behind them; it seemed the noise they were making had distracted her from her reading.

“I believe we’re starting to annoy Mama,” Edward chuckled. Florence turned around, struggling to bring herself back to seriousness.

“I apologise for the racket, Mrs Drummond,” she called.

“That’s alright, my dear,” Frances responded, amused affection on her face.

His mother had always been fond of Florence, Edward knew - and besides, she had been so immensely relieved at his recovery that he doubted she would ever have the heart to chastise him again.

He had asked her to come along with them to the Lake District for the weekend, knowing that, until he and Florence were married, they could not be permitted to be alone together without a chaperone. She had agreed immediately, clearly eager to keep an eye on him and make sure he was not straining himself.

Edward assumed most men would seethe with irritation at the necessity of constantly being chaperoned while with their fiance, but he had secretly been relieved to follow this particular tradition.

They had not really spent any meaningful time together since they were children, and after he had apologised to Alfred for agreeing so hastily with her idea, he had realised that the thought of spending so much time with Florence terrified him somewhat.

Yes, it was only for a few days - but what if they found that they truly did not have anything to say to each other anymore? Or worse, what if she decided she wanted to speak of love and romance, to prepare themselves for the wedding and honeymoon?

He had already been feeling deeply uneasy before they had even left, for he had searched through the pockets of his burgundy coat thoroughly, over and over again, and had been forced to reach the conclusion that the letter Alfred had sent him that night was gone. The _deeply intimate_ letter Alfred had sent him.

Of course, he had almost had a heart attack when he had first realised it was missing. He was not a complete fool, he understood how compromising, even dangerous, that letter could be if it ended up in the wrong hands.

He had tried to calm himself down by thinking about the situation logically. Surely, if that letter had been read by the wrong person in that hospital, there would have been repercussions, awkward questions asked of him when he woke up? Perhaps it had been stained by his own blood so that it was unreadable, and so it had been disposed of by one of the doctors? He hated the thought of something so precious being discarded, although he supposed it was better than having it turned against him, or worse, turned against Alfred.

The more comforting alternative he had conjured was that Alfred had simply noticed the letter in his coat while watching over him, and had taken it before anyone else could notice. It was understandable that, amidst all the drama after he had woken up, Alfred had simply forgotten to tell him.

Even now, he could not know for sure. He hadn’t seen Alfred since he had discovered the letter was missing - and how could he possibly write to him and ask him if he knew where the love letter was? What if _that_ letter was intercepted?

No, until he saw Alfred again - and he was counting down the moments - there was nothing he could do about the missing letter, other than trust that Alfred had it safe and sound.

The thought of the missing letter certainly hadn’t done much to help him relax, though, and on their way up to the Lake District he had once again been silently thankful for his mother’s presence. He was certainly going to need some kind of buffer between himself and Florence, he had suspected.

And then...all of a sudden, he wasn’t thinking about that letter anymore. He wasn’t feeling awkward or uncomfortable.

He was missing Alfred’s lips and the warmth of his embrace, of course...but he was not miserably wishing himself far away from Florence.

He was relaxed, happy, even. He was rekindling a friendship. Their connection, it seemed, had not died - it had just gone dormant for years.

Of course he was keeping his promise to Alfred that he and Florence would not do anything other than talk - for one thing, etiquette forbade them to do anything more before the wedding. And for another, Edward had absolutely no desire to be with her in that way. The thought that he would eventually have to still made him flinch, and he was trying his best to repress it.

But when he had told Alfred that he and Florence would just talk, he had been picturing somewhat awkward small talk as they desperately tried to find something they still had in common.

He had forgotten, in the years that had elapsed since their childhood, how witty she was, how intelligent and opinionated, how much she had once made him laugh.

“Surely, Edward, _you_ were not involved in this legendary prank on the schoolmaster, were you? You seem to know an awful lot about it…”

“Of course I wasn’t!”, he responded with mock outrage. “You know me, I am always the epitome of good behaviour!”

Florence scoffed disbelievingly.

“Oh yes, I’m sure,” she said sarcastically. “That must be why you slipped a frog into that governess’s bed and made her scream blue murder!”

“What...that was _you_!” he said indignantly.

“ _Me?!_ I was an angel, Edward, it most certainly was not me!”

“I think you’ll find it most certainly was…” he responded, grinning.

It seemed as though Florence was barely restraining herself from sticking her tongue out at him, and, out of the corner of his eye, he could see his mother fondly rolling her eyes.

He felt almost as though they were eight years old again, bickering and teasing one another as his mother sighed to herself in the background.  


They had been the best of friends as children. Close enough to strangers when they became engaged as adults. There were so many years missing in between.

There was just so much he hadn’t told her about Eton, about Oxford, and she seemed genuinely fascinated to hear about everything that had happened to him. Over the past few days, she had been hungrily asking him for more details about all the lessons he had learnt, the pranks he had witnessed, the friendships he had made, and he thought he could detect an edge of wistful longing in her voice.

He hadn’t really considered before how lonely and bored Florence had been, left behind and craving intellectual stimulation while he went off to Eton. She was so intelligent, so eager to learn. It did not seem fair that he had been encouraged to challenge himself and reach for opportunities, while she had been confined in the house with her father, learning embroidery, pianoforte and dancing rather than reading about the many things which fascinated her.

At least she had also been spared the downsides of boarding school, like the vindictive schoolmasters with their power trips, Edward thought to himself.

“If I _had_ been involved in that prank on Mr Sampson - and I’m not saying that I was - I would have been justified,” he defended himself. The way he was treating William, treating all of us...he deserved it.”

“Well, _if_ I had been the one who put that frog in Miss Beecham’s bed - though I still maintain that was you - I daresay she deserved it even more,” Florence said, all traces of amusement suddenly vanished from her face.

“She was repulsive, the way she was always bullying... _her_. Just because she was the youngest and she couldn’t fight back.”

Edward winced at the sudden flood of memories which he had tried so hard, for so many years, to repress.

He swallowed, staring at Florence.

“It’s been over fifteen years, Florence. You can say her name aloud, you know.”

She looked at him, and he saw his own bewildered pain reflected in her hazel eyes, the sudden shock of grief and loneliness he had felt as a young child. Sometimes, even though he was Private Secretary to the Prime Minister, he wondered how much of that terrified and lonely boy was left in him.

“Rosalie,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes, images of a little girl with long dark hair filling his head. Giggling with him, trying to smear his face with dirt. Trying to sneak him treats from the kitchen when his father had been angry with him.

“Do you ever miss her, Edward?” Florence asked tentatively, so quiet now that Edward’s mother would not be able to hear her.

“She was my little sister, Florence,” he responded. He was struggling to speak past the lump in his throat.

“Of course I miss her. I miss her all the time.”

Hesitant, she reached out and squeezed his hand gently.

“I miss her too.”

He looked at her. She had been almost like a sister to Rosalie too, taking her under her wing and trying to protect her, even though she was barely two years older. Edward remembered the grateful adoration in Rosalie’s dark eyes, the eyes they had both inherited from their mother.

The thought made him glance around at Frances, who was once more absorbed in her book. He was glad they were now speaking too quietly for her to overhear them.

His mother never spoke of Rosalie, it was too painful.

He felt a pang as he thought of how she must have felt when he had been shot. She had barely coped with losing one child; he honestly wasn’t sure if she would have survived the loss of two.

“It was because of her, wasn’t it?” Florence asked him quietly. “It was because of her that we stopped being friends.”

He swallowed.

He had been nine, Florence eight. And she - Rosalie - had been just six.

She had always been small and delicate, that was why he and Florence had been so protective of her. Edward remembered how she would giggle and sing to herself, running around after him, full of life, laughter and mischief, scowling whenever he had told her she couldn’t come exploring with him because Mama had said she needed to rest.

His parents had always been worried, because she had never been as robust and strong as he and Florence, but they had breathed a sigh of relief once she had passed her fifth birthday, knowing that the first five years of childhood were generally the most dangerous.

But fate had been cruelly taunting them, it seemed. For, when she turned six, when they had finally believed her out of the woods, that most feared of childhood illnesses had crept into the house like a foul, cold mist. Diphtheria. Some called it ‘the strangling angel.’

Edward vividly remembered the gasping, rattling sounds of his little sister struggling to breathe, the hurried footsteps of servants carrying things in and out of her room, the low, tense voices of his parents conversing with the doctors.

Neither he nor Florence had been allowed in to see her once the first symptoms had appeared, nor had anyone told them what was going on. He remembered the helplessness, the anger and fear as the door had been closed in his face. Knowing there was something deeply wrong with his sister, his best friend in the world, but being locked away from her, shut out by a terrifying and bewildering world of adult secrets.

Of course, he had realised in the years afterwards that his parents had only been terrified he and Florence would also fall victim to ‘the strangling angel’ if they went anywhere near Rosalie. But he’d had no way of understanding that at the time. It had just seemed to him that they were being needlessly, incomprehensibly cruel.

Her coffin had seemed absurdly tiny, like a toy. He remembered thinking that it could not be real, that surely coffins were not even made that small. Perhaps it was somebody’s morbid, twisted idea of a joke, he had thought to himself.

For months afterwards, when the house had seemed cold, dark, quiet and empty, he had felt a bitter anger at his parents for keeping him and Florence away from Rosalie in her last days.

What if they’d been able to help where nobody else could? They had known her better than anyone else had, after all. Or, even if they hadn’t been able to save her, they could at least have distracted her from the pain, made her laugh as they had so often done before. That was what had hurt the most in the years afterwards - thinking of Rosalie spending her last few hours in fear and loneliness.

After she was gone, Florence had gradually stopped visiting. Edward supposed he couldn’t blame her.

Her absence, the silence, seemed to hang over the house like a dark veil. In every room, he had felt such a strong sensation of Rosalie somehow watching him, desperate to speak to him but unable to, that he had frequently turned around, searching hungrily with his eyes, both terrified and hopeful that he was not actually alone.

It had seemed to Edward that his sister had been the essential link between he and Florence, and with her absence the link had been broken.

Florence had stopped coming to the house, whether according to her father’s wishes or of her own volition he had never quite been sure, and he had left for Eton barely a year after the funeral.

In truth, he had been desperate by that time to escape from the house, from the pressing weight of her absence, from the dreams of her coming into his room, shaking him to wake him up, which seemed so real that he would wake up cold, wondering if he had ever actually fallen asleep.

As he spent more years away from his childhood home, moving from Eton to Oxford and then coming to live in London, it had become gradually easier to repress the painful memories. It seemed it was more difficult for Rosalie’s ghost to haunt him when he was staying in rooms where she had never set foot, surrounded by people who had never loved her or even known her.

He vividly remembered the uneasy weight that had settled in his stomach when his father had made it clear to him that he should be courting Florence, pursuing her as a wife. Of course, he had known that he had absolutely no desire to be with her _like that_ , although he had already been in deep with Alfred before he had realised exactly why that was.

But, if he was being truly honest, it was more than that. Perhaps Edward hadn’t been able to fully admit it to himself before now, because he had been trying to repress his memories of _her_ for so many years now...but, ever since Florence had stopped visiting after the funeral, some part of him couldn’t help but imagine that the ghost of Rosalie was always hovering between them, the two people who had loved her most in the world.

He had been so scared of spending time alone with Florence. He had fallen deeply in love with somebody else since the time he had awkwardly proposed to her, that was uncomfortable enough in itself.

But they had also fallen out of each others’ lives since Rosalie had been gone, and he was terrified that his little sister’s ghost would always be there between them, her cold fingertips brushing against their arms, pulling them back to the pain of the past and preventing them from moving on.

He looked at Florence, mulling over her words. _It was because of her that we stopped being friends_.

Was that true, though? They’d been avoiding each other since her death, and they’d even kept on doing so, as much as possible, throughout their courtship.

And yet...even though he felt a thrill of excitement course through him every time he thought about getting back to Alfred, having him back in his arms, he could hardly pretend that he’d just been miserable, spending these days with Florence.

She made him laugh. They were finally talking to each other about politics, books, the things which fascinated them, they had been filling each other in on everything they had missed over the past years - well, _almost_ everything, Edward amended.

His heart beat faster as he thought of Alfred’s soft lips, his deep blue eyes flashing fire at him.

But even though there were some things that he could not tell her, they were finally talking about the past. And it was not _all_ painful. They had had some wonderful times when Rosalie had been with them, and speaking about those times had brought back some of the joy of his early childhood, which he had almost forgotten in the wake of what had happened later.

And of course it had hurt, speaking about his sister, when he had been trying to repress the memories for so long. But it had also been the first time since the funeral that he had spoken aloud about Rosalie, to anyone, and somehow he felt that an enormous burden had lifted, a burden which he hadn’t even realised he’d been carrying.

His sister would never have wanted the two of them to spend the rest of their lives in pain, silently grieving her and afraid to even say her name aloud. He realised that now. He could scarcely imagine the look on Rosalie’s face if she had been told that one day, Edward and Florence would get married. But he understood, finally, that she would not have wanted the two of them to stop being friends, simply because she wasn’t with them anymore.

 

“No, Florence,” he finally responded quietly.

“We stayed away from each other for a while, it’s true. It hurt too much. But we can still be friends. From now on.”

 

She looked at him, her eyes welling with tears. “You promise?”

 

He nodded, holding out his little finger solemnly, just as the two of them used to do with Rosalie whenever they were swearing a pact to keep something secret from the adults.

Florence grinned, recognising the gesture.

 

“I promise.”

 

They linked their little fingers together, as they had done so many times before, so long ago.

It felt strange doing it with two people where once there had been three - but it did not feel wrong, Edward realised. He still imagined that Rosalie was with them, in some way, but he no longer felt as though she was standing between them, pushing them away from each other. Wherever she was, she just wanted them to keep being happy. To keep being friends.

 

Edward stood up, proffering his hand to Florence.

 

“I think perhaps we have sat here reminiscing for long enough,” he said. “I propose that we go for a stroll. I have heard say that the Lake District is beautiful at this time of year, and I believe I would like a glimpse of Castlerigg Stone Circle before we head back to London.”  

 

She smiled and took his hand so he could help her stand up.

He smiled back at her a little sadly as she tucked her arm in his - how much easier things would be, for both of them, he thought, if her touch made his skin tingle and his heart pound, as Alfred’s touch did. But still, the touch of her arm did make him feel lighter somehow, relieved that their camaraderie had been restored.

 

He turned around to face Frances.

 

“Mama, would you care to join us?” he called, proffering his other arm.

 

***

 

It seemed to Florence only an hour or two later that the carriage arrived back at the London residence of Edward’s parents, where she was staying in the weeks leading up to the wedding.

Her time with Edward in the Lake District really had seemed to fly by.

 

Edward proffered his hand to help both her and Frances alight from the carriage.

Mrs Drummond appeared somewhat exhausted by the long drive back, and quickly announced that she was going up to bed. Edward bent down so his mother could kiss him on the cheek, and she squeezed Florence’s hand affectionately before heading inside.

Florence turned back to Edward.

“Edward, I...I had a really lovely time,” she said.

He smiled at her. There was warmth in his dark eyes, but she thought she could see something else too, something a little harder to read.

“Me too,” he said quietly.

“Thank you,” she said. “For agreeing to come away with me for a few days.”

“It was a pleasure,” he said, flashing her that same grin she remembered from when he was a small boy. He really meant his words, she could see that.

She smiled back at him, and he leant in a little tentatively to kiss her on the cheek.

She waited for her heart to start pounding, her skin to grow warm. That was what was supposed to happen when you were kissed by the handsome man you were to marry, according to her novels.

Edward had kissed her on the cheek every now and then when they were children together, while Rosalie had jumped up and down beside him, insisting that it was her turn. His kiss didn’t really seem to make her heart flutter any more now than it had done when they were eight years old.

Still, she felt immensely relieved that the easy comfort that had existed between them so many years ago seemed to be gradually coming back to them.

“Goodnight, Edward,” she said quietly.

“Goodnight, Florence,” he responded.   


She felt her long journey beginning to catch up with her as she got into her nightdress and slid under the covers. But she did not drift immediately into sleep; her mind was still too full of the conversations they had had over the past few days.

She had never really intended to bring up the subject of Edward’s sister; neither of them had spoken about her at all since her funeral, as far as she was aware, and certainly not to each other.

But she was glad, now, that she had mentioned Rosalie. Her absence had been pressing down on both of them, it seemed, and the longer they had stayed silent, the more the wound had festered. It had hurt to speak about the little girl who had once been so bright and full of energy, and who was now lying cold under the earth.

But Florence knew instinctively that the two of them had _needed_ to talk about her, they had needed to for years. Already, she felt lighter, and she could see that Edward did too. Perhaps acknowledging how much they had both been missing her was the only way to heal both themselves and their relationship.

She smiled to herself, thinking of the understanding they had reached while away.

They had been friends long ago - and now, it was time to acknowledge the fear, the pain and the loneliness they had both been carrying with them since that terrible night over fifteen years ago, to accept it and to move on so that they could be friends once again.

 

Yes, Edward Drummond, her soon-to-be-husband, was her friend.

She was fairly certain that she did not love him, or at least, not in the way that heroines loved heros in her novels. She wasn’t sure if he loved her in that way, either. Perhaps, though, that kind of love would gradually start to blossom between them, after they were married?

 

Unbidden, an image of that letter swam to the front of her mind, the letter that was currently locked away in her jewellery box.

 

 _Yours, Alfred_.

 

She shook her head, turning her pillow over angrily.

 

Why on earth would she think of that right now? She had been doing so well, she had been calm and rational, she and Edward were moving forward - what was the point of being stupid and paranoid now? She had read far too much into that letter, it was only an affectionate note between two close friends, she told herself firmly. She had just been terrified and overwhelmed at the time, not thinking clearly while Edward had been in danger.

She felt a twinge of guilt pull at her. She shouldn’t even have _read_ a letter which wasn’t addressed to her, much less be keeping it in her jewellery box. She couldn’t even really explain to herself why she hadn’t handed it back to Edward yet. It was a little late to do so now. How on earth would she explain her urge to take it, without making herself sound like a paranoid fool?

 

She sighed, forcing herself to think about Edward’s funny stories from Eton until she finally drifted off to sleep.

 

***

 

Edward had only been away with _her_ for a few days, but already it felt closer to a month. Once again, Alfred had scarcely been able to concentrate at all while fulfilling his duties at the palace, fraying the Queen’s temper as she had been forced to repeat herself several times.

 

Edward had told him before he left how much he loved him, and he had promised that nothing remotely romantic was going to happen with Florence while they were away. And Alfred trusted him.

 

It wasn’t that he thought Edward would betray him - it was just that his stomach roiled with jealousy at the thought of _that woman_ getting to spend so much time with him, even before the wedding. From her perspective, she had every right to keep Edward to herself from now on - and the thing that left a vile and bitter taste in his mouth was that neither he nor Edward could argue with this logic. Not without endangering themselves.

What was more, even if Edward felt no desire for her, Alfred felt certain that _she_ must desire _him._ After all, how could she not? With those soft brown curls, those intelligent dark eyes, that _mouth_...He knew that any woman with eyes would desire Edward. And yet, he still felt a violently possessive quiver of anger at the thought that this particular woman would not only lust after him, but share his bed.

 

And _god_ , thinking about all the things that made Edward so utterly desirable was _really_ not helping him to focus. Her Majesty was irritated enough with his constant distraction as it was, but he could not help it.

He had missed that beautiful man so much. Half of him wanted to be tender and careful with him, making sure he really had obeyed Alfred’s request that he take care of himself.

The other half of him...well, the other half of him was remembering _that_ night in Scotland, the taste of Edward’s lips and the smooth feel of his skin. It really had been a long time since that night, and if Edward was now feeling well enough to go gallivanting off to the Lake District...  

 

“Lord Alfred?”

 

He started, trying to pull himself together as he turned to see who was addressing him. It was Brodie, Victoria’s page. He was bowing, holding out a small scroll of paper.

 

“Letter for you, Lord Alfred,” Brodie said.

 

A shiver of excitement ran down his spine as Alfred recognised Edward’s calligraphy. He practically snatched the letter out of Brodie’s hands, barely remembering to call a ‘thank you’ to him before he hurried off to read it, leaving a somewhat bewildered pageboy in his wake.

 

_Lord Alfred,_

_I am returning to London tomorrow._

_I have sent a note ahead to my butler, telling him to take the night off. I suspect I shall be too tired by my journey to require his services._

_I can let myself in and open a bottle perfectly well by myself, but I fear the house will feel strangely quiet if it is just me. If you are amenable, I should very much like your company when I return. Perhaps we might share some port together, and you might update me on the goings-on that I have missed while away._

_By the time you are reading this, I shall already be back home. There is no need for you to send a return note; once you have read this, you may come over to share a port with me as soon as time permits._

_I am very much looking forward to seeing you._

_Your most affectionate friend,_

_Edward Drummond_

 

Edward was learning to be a bit more careful, it seemed, at least in his writing. Alfred could not see that anybody else reading this letter would take anything from it, except that two friends were meeting for drinks and conversation.

But there was only one thing he got from this letter, only one thing that mattered: Edward was finally home. Alone, with not even his butler. And he was already waiting for him.

 

He should probably at least let the Queen know that he was leaving the palace, in case she required him for something. But he had no clue which part of the palace she was in at the moment, and he was really not in the mood to go wandering around looking for her right now.

 

“Brodie, tell Her Majesty that I will see her tomorrow!” he called hastily in the vague direction of the pageboy.

 

Surely, the Queen could do without him for a few hours.

                                    

***

 

Edward sat in his drawing room, absentmindedly swirling some port in a wineglass, lost in thought as he gazed into the fireplace.

 

He really did feel lighter, now that he and Florence had finally discussed Rosalie. Now that that weight had lifted slightly, he wondered how he had failed to even notice its presence before. Perhaps he had simply grown too used to it.

 

He had told her it was a pleasure going on the trip with her, and he had really meant it. He was happy, relieved, that he and Florence could return to their friendship where they had left off. He enjoyed talking to her, he felt comfortable with her, and their discussion of Rosalie made him feel that they could be open and honest with each other.

 

Except that that wasn’t entirely true. He _still_ wasn’t being honest with her, he was _still_ keeping a huge secret from her.

 

He had sent a note ahead to Alfred, as he had been missing him so much that he had wanted him to be forewarned of his return. He had even sent a note ahead to his butler to give him the night off.

He was sitting waiting for Alfred right now, in fact, his heart pounding with excitement and his skin already tingling as he thought of that smooth skin, the rainwater scent of his golden hair, that kissable mouth.

 

No, despite their newly budding friendship, despite everything she had done for him, he had certainly not told Florence about _this_. Somewhere underneath his impatient desire, he felt a sharp twinge of guilt.

 

But how could he possibly tell the woman he was about to marry that he had fallen deeply in love - and in lust - with another man? Even if she _was_ his friend?

He could not tell Florence about this, this was _too_ private. For one thing, he could not hurt her like that. And for another, he did not want to take even the tiniest chance of endangering Alfred.

Yes, he trusted Florence more than he trusted most people. But this secret was only half his.

 

His warring with himself was suddenly interrupted by a knock at the door.

He leapt to his feet and practically sprinted to open it, struggling a little with the handle as his hands shook with excited desire.

 

Alfred stood there, gazing at him.

“Edward.”

 

He had almost forgotten just how beautiful he was. Alfred was smiling at him, his chest rising and falling, his eyes darkened almost to indigo.

 

Barely even checking to make sure there was nobody out on the street who could see them, Edward seized him by his coat lapels and pulled him inside the house, slamming the door closed behind him and pushing him up against it.

 

He pressed his lips against Alfred’s desperately, feeling joy coursing through his veins as he stroked the other man’s tongue with his own.

Alfred whimpered and pressed closer, reaching up to wind his arms around Edward’s neck.

 

Edward sighed against Alfred’s lips.

He was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Whydidtheydothis for giving me the diphtheria idea, and for giving me permission to 'borrow' a few things! I swear it was only the idea for that particular disease that I took though - this part of the backstory was already in place!
> 
> I know there was not much interaction between the boys this chapter, but I PROMISE I will let them have some fun in Chapter 12 ;) 
> 
> On that note though, you may have to bear with me a bit because I am about to go back to university full time, so there will definitely be longer waits between updates - I'm not sure how long yet, but hopefully around one new update every week and a half or two weeks. I'm sorry! I promise I'll still be writing it!
> 
> And once again, a massive thank you to everyone who gives comments and kudos - you all keep me writing. I can't wait to show you where all these characters are headed! <3 <3 xxx


	12. A Promise Sealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Alfred are reunited and discover that they have a lot to catch up on...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that the wait between chapters is a bit longer now that I've started back at uni! I'll do my best!
> 
> Anyway, this chapter follows on immediately from where last chapter left off, and it's the first chapter I've written with proper smut in it. It's not OVERLY graphic (I hope), but...I know some people don't particularly enjoy reading that kind of thing, and there are also some pretty plot-relevant conversations happening between the boys in this chapter. 
> 
> So, if you'd rather skip over the smut - scroll down until you find three stars, and you can dive back into things that are strictly plot-relevant!
> 
> Enjoy!

Reluctantly, Edward broke away from Alfred’s lips, panting for air. 

 

Alfred looked up at him, his eyes darkened with desire. His arms were still twined around his neck, his hands tangled in Edward’s curls. 

 

“Am I to take it you missed me, Edward?” Alfred asked. Edward could tell he was trying to sound playful, but there was an unmistakable edge of vulnerability in his voice. 

 

Edward cupped his face, stroking his thumbs over Alfred’s cheekbones.

 

“You can’t seriously be worried I’m going to say no?”

 

Alfred smiled a little sheepishly. 

 

Edward sighed and surged forward, pressing his lips against Alfred’s again. Acting on instinct, he gently slid his tongue between Alfred’s lips, exploring every inch of his mouth. 

He shivered, feeling a delicious sense of molten heat in his stomach and lower. Alfred’s warmth, his taste...it was overwhelming, intoxicating.

 

He drew back a little once more, gently nipping Alfred’s lower lip between his teeth. Alfred whimpered in response. 

 

“Does that answer your question, you ridiculous man?” he whispered against Alfred’s lips, grinning. “Yes, I missed you.” 

 

“I missed you, too,” Alfred murmured. “So much, I thought I might be going mad.” 

 

He moved his mouth to Edward’s neck, pressing a gentle kiss near his collarbone. Edward inhaled sharply. 

He usually prided himself on his intelligence and logic - but Alfred Paget seemed to have a knack for making his brain melt into uselessness. 

 

“I can feel your heart pounding, Edward,” Alfred whispered against his neck. 

 

“That’s hardly surprising, if you insist on doing... _ that _ ,” Edward responded, his voice rough edged. 

 

“You don’t understand how wonderful that feels, Edward,” Alfred murmured. “Ever since you woke up in the hospital, I’ve been having...having dreams....and after you went away they got worse…” His voice was shaking.

 

Edward shuddered. He couldn’t bear the pain in Alfred’s voice. 

He thought again of everything he and Florence had talked about, of cold silences, dark and empty rooms. He had been dwelling too much on the harsh chill of death, he decided. He had been dwelling on it for years, even if he had not admitted that to himself until recently. 

 

Alfred’s words - and the new scar on his chest - reminded him of how precious life was. He needed to take full advantage of the near miraculous reprieve he had been given. He needed to feel Alfred’s warm skin under his hands, feel Alfred’s heartbeat against his own. 

 

“I’m here, my darling,” he whispered, cupping Alfred’s face in his hands again. “I’m right here.” 

 

His hands shaking slightly, Alfred slowly reached out and placed one hand directly over Edward’s heart. Feeling the warmth of his palm through his shirt, Edward’s heart promptly began beating even harder. 

 

Alfred stared at him for a moment, sapphire eyes tracing over his face. 

Then, pulling Edward’s face back towards him, he crushed his lips firmly against Edward’s again, swirling his tongue against the roof of Edward’s mouth.

 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he murmured between frantic kisses. 

 

Edward’s heart felt close to bursting with joy, and as Alfred pressed even closer and he felt the evidence of his arousal against his thigh, he felt his entire body flaring up with light and warmth, like his tinderbox that night on the balcony. 

 

He moaned quietly, instinctively pressing back against Alfred. 

 

“Edward,” Alfred gasped breathlessly, breaking off the kiss. “Did you take care of yourself, as I asked? How are you feeling?”

 

Edward was finding it somewhat hard to think clearly; his brain seemed to be melting into a puddle of lust. 

“I am feeling,” he said in a low voice, as he tried to slip his hand under Alfred’s shirt and touch his bare skin, “like I need you very, very much.” 

 

Alfred shivered, his eyes darkening to indigo. 

 

“Well, I believe the doctors did mention something about ensuring your needs were attended to,” he said. 

“Though, as they also said you were not to exert yourself too much…”

 

All of a sudden, Edward found his feet lifting off the ground as Alfred wrapped his arms tightly around his midriff and attempted to hoist him over his shoulder. 

 

“Wha - Alfred!” he said, giggling in shock. “Don’t be so ridiculous, I am far too heavy for you! You are half my size!” 

 

“I am not  _ half your size _ , Edward. And I can manage,” Alfred insisted, somewhat breathlessly, even as he began to stagger slightly under Edward’s weight.

 

Grinning, Edward rolled his eyes as Alfred determinedly continued struggling up the stairs, carrying him in his arms. 

 

“You are impossible. And I love you,” he said, pressing his lips against Alfred’s again and feeling almost giddy with happiness. He flicked his tongue against Alfred’s lips, and felt Alfred shiver once more.

 

A split second later, and he found himself lying awkwardly on his back on the staircase, Alfred sprawled on top of him.

 

“I meant to do that,” Alfred said immediately. Edward raised an eyebrow at him. 

 

“Alright, fine,” he muttered in response to Edward’s cynical look, grinning. “But I would have succeeded - this is your fault for distracting me.”

 

“If you say so,” Edward murmured, stroking Alfred’s hair out of his eyes. 

 

“Although actually,” Alfred said, grinning mischievously as he pressed every inch of himself against Edward’s body and nipped gently at his ear, “I find I am tolerably comfortable here.” 

 

He moved his mouth down to Edward’s neck, licking a long stripe from his collarbone up to his jaw. 

 

Edward gasped, feeling all the blood rushing away from his head. 

God, how was it this beautiful man could have such an effect on him?!

 

As Alfred pressed against him, Edward dimly registered the hard, uncomfortable edge of the stairs digging into his back, and he struggled to think clearly and form coherent words. 

 

“Alfred...wait,” he murmured reluctantly, even as his hand seemed to move of its own accord, tangling itself in the other man’s beautiful golden hair. 

 

“Don’t you think we’ve done enough waiting by now, Edward?” Alfred responded, his voice somewhat muffled against Edward’s neck. 

 

“I do, I really do, but” - he reached out and gently took Alfred’s chin in his hand, forcing him to meet his eyes - “this moment is so, so precious to me, Alfred.” 

 

“Well, it’s precious to me too, Edward!” 

 

“I know that,” he responded, smiling at the indignation in Alfred’s tone. “I was just thinking that, since this is so precious for both of us, I would prefer to be somewhere soft and comfortable, with perhaps even some room to move, rather than awkwardly curled up in this position with the cold stairs jutting into me?”

 

Alfred sighed.

 

“You’re supposed to be looking after me, Alfred!”  Edward teased.

 

“Oh, I know,” he said. “I intend to do that, believe me.” He dropped another kiss onto Edward’s neck, and Edward felt his heart pounding even more wildly. 

 

“Alfred…”

 

Reluctantly, Alfred pushed himself into a standing position, and held out his hand to Edward. 

Pulling him upright, Alfred reached up and grabbed him by his collar. 

 

“I promise not to be ridiculous anymore,” he whispered. 

 

Before Edward could respond, Alfred kissed him fiercely once more, biting his lower lip again gently. Edward whimpered as Alfred broke away and, still clutching his collar, began slowly backing him up the rest of the stairs. 

 

“Well,” he amended, grinning slyly, “not  _ that  _ ridiculous, anyway.” 

 

Edward felt the flat wooden surface of his bedroom door against his back as Alfred pushed him against it. He leaned his head back against it, fumbling desperately for the handle as Alfred returned his attentions to his exposed neck. 

His hands were shaking with excitement, he couldn’t think properly - then,  _ finally,  _ he found the handle and turned it sharply. Both of them stumbled gracelessly into the room, giggling together as they lost their balance.

Before he knew it, Edward found himself toppling backwards onto his soft bed, Alfred landing on top of him once more. 

 

The feel of Alfred’s hardness pushing against his own was both familiar and thrillingly, exhilaratingly new. It reminded him vividly of that night in Scotland, only this was different - he had not known that Alfred Paget loved him back then, and he had not yet pledged himself, promising, despite everything, never to leave him. 

 

He sighed as Alfred began firmly sucking on his neck once more - then, seemingly of their own volition, his hands slid up against the soft fabric of Alfred’s shirt, pausing for a split second before tearing it open. 

 

“Edward!”, Alfred gasped, shock mingled with desire on his face. 

 

Edward shrugged, grinning. “I figured it was my turn.” 

 

Alfred stared at him for a moment, hunger on his face - then, he bent down on top of him once again, kissing him frantically, desperately, as though he could never taste him enough. 

 

Edward whimpered. “I need you,” he whispered, shivering as Alfred caught his lower lip between his teeth again. 

 

Alfred brought his hands to Edward’s shirt. “God, help me, Edward, my hands are shaking!” 

 

Gently, Edward brought Alfred’s hands to his lips, unfurling them and placing a kiss on each palm, feeling Alfred shivering beneath his touch. 

Then, releasing Alfred’s hands again, he rapidly unbuttoned his own shirt, his heart pounding faster than ever before. Impatient, Alfred reached out to tug the shirt off his arms, flinging it on the floor next to his own. 

 

Staring down at him in awe, Alfred slowly ran his hands over the bare skin of Edward’s stomach, tracing up towards his chest. His breath hitched slightly as his fingers reached the scar left by the bullet. He swallowed, just gazing at it for a moment.

Edward flinched slightly, his hands twitching towards his chest in a self-conscious instinct to cover up the scar. 

 

Gently, Alfred stopped him by taking Edward’s hands in his own, shaking his head, tears in his eyes. 

“Don’t, Edward,” he whispered. “It’s beautiful. It’s part of you.”

He leaned down, pressing the gentlest of kisses to the scar. 

 

Immediately, Edward felt his own eyes welling with tears. He could not remember  _ ever  _ feeling as safe and warm as he did now - how did this gorgeous man manage to make his insecurities and doubts melt away, just like that?

 

“Alfred,” he said quietly, his voice choked with tears. He brushed his hand against the other man’s cheek softly. 

“I...I didn’t even know it was possible to love somebody this much.” 

 

He heard Alfred’s breath hitch as he looked up at him again, twining a hand in his curls and pressing their foreheads and noses together gently. 

 

“Does that mean you’re ready?” he whispered. 

 

Edward swallowed. “Yes,” he whispered back, winding his hands into Alfred’s hair. “God yes, I’m ready.” 

 

They kissed slowly, their lips melding together. Edward felt as though his skin was burning - it was as though they were passing a promise between them. 

 

Alfred intertwined their hands, so that they could slowly pull Edward’s drawers off together, before doing the same with his own. 

 

“Oh god,” Edward moaned quietly, as he felt Alfred’s burning erection resting against his thigh. He had never felt so much excited anticipation in his  _ life.  _

 

Tentatively, Alfred reached out a hand to stroke him. Edward inhaled sharply. 

 

“God, you’re beautiful, Edward,” Alfred said quietly, his voice shaking slightly. He slid down the bed a little, lowering his mouth down slowly, his eyes still locked on Edward’s face. 

 

“May I?”

 

“ _ Please _ , Alfred,” Edward breathed in response, hardly daring to believe that this was happening. 

 

Leaning down, holding him steady with one hand, Alfred kissed him gently, reverently. Edward whimpered, clutching at Alfred’s hair. His brain didn’t seem to be running even remotely on logic anymore, only sensation. 

 

“Oh god, more,” he whispered. 

 

Alfred looked up at him from under his long eyelashes, and obeyed, beginning to slowly suck him. 

Edward could never have imagined that anything could feel like this - his whole body was alight. All he could think about was Alfred’s mouth, Alfred’s tongue. He was close to weeping with arousal. 

 

He had to use all the willpower he possessed to pull away. 

 

“Alfred, I...I won’t be able to hold on,” he choked out. 

“I want...I need...I need you to lie with me. Please. I need us to do this together.” 

 

Alfred nodded, as though he did not trust himself to speak, and crawled slowly up the bed again. 

As Alfred intertwined their fingers again, Edward felt his breath hitch a little. He was  _ so  _ excited - and yet, he felt he barely knew what he was doing. 

 

“Are you nervous, Edward?” Alfred whispered, pressing a kiss under his ear. 

 

“Only a little,” he whispered back.

“We don’t have to do this, you know. We can stop now if you’d like…”

 

Edward turned his head around quickly, pressing his lips reassuringly to Alfred’s. 

“You are a beautiful idiot,” he said softly.“Of course I don’t want to stop. It’s just...new, is all. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

 

“Well, I don’t exactly know what I’m doing either,” Alfred murmured, squeezing his hand gently as he dropped a kiss on his ear. “We’ll learn, together. And I promise that I won’t hurt you.” 

 

Edward gripped his hand back. “I know you won’t. And I love you, Alfred.” 

 

“I love you too,” Alfred whispered against his neck.

 

And then, finally,  _ finally _ , they were fully joined, two bodies becoming one. 

 

Edward had never known it was possible to feel such an incredible sensation of intimacy. All he could feel, hear, see, smell, taste, was Alfred, as their bodies moved together. 

He was trembling, gasping, panting and moaning all at once, clutching his lover tightly, trying to keep him as close as possible, needing to feel every inch of his body. He never wanted this to end. 

 

As Alfred began moving faster against him, his breathing becoming quicker and rougher, Edward felt his entire body seize up, as the most powerful wave of pleasure he had ever felt, beyond anything he had imagined, washed over him.

He called out Alfred’s name loudly, completely lost in ecstasy and heedless of anyone that might hear him. 

Mere moments later, Alfred shuddered and, with one final thrust, called out his name in response, before collapsing on top of Edward, burying his face in the crook of his neck. 

 

As they lay there, letting their breathing gradually slow, Edward kissed Alfred’s hair, blinking tears out of his eyes. 

He could never have imagined it would be like this, he could never have known how it was to feel this safe and warm, this  _ connected  _ to another person. 

He had told Alfred how much he loved him, and Alfred had said the same to him, and that had felt like a promise. 

According to the world, what they had just done was sinful, wrong. But that was a concept Edward could not wrap his mind around, he thought as he stroked Alfred’s back gently. Because, to him, what had just happened between them felt profoundly  _ right _ , as if everything had settled into place. As if the promise they had made with their words had finally been sealed. 

Now, feeling as though he had fire in his veins, Edward suddenly understood exactly what was meant by the phrase ‘making love’. 

 

***

 

Alfred was stunned speechless, his head still reeling. He couldn’t quite comprehend the fact that, after so long pining for Edward in desperate desire, he really had just shared that with him. He was dazed, sated, part of him still wondering if this was all some fabulous dream. 

 

As Edward stroked his back, sending gentle ripples of pleasure coursing through his body, Alfred pressed a soft kiss to his chest. Edward’s skin was warm and smooth beneath his mouth, reassuring him. No, he didn’t think this was a dream. 

 

He slid slowly up the bed, needing to feel Edward’s lips against his again. 

 

“I love you,” he murmured against his mouth. 

 

“Love you too,” Edward mumbled, sounding dazed and somewhat awestruck.

 

Alfred grinned against his mouth, kissing him once more before settling his head down against Edward’s chest. 

He closed his eyes as Edward began to stroke his hair gently, listening to the sound of his lover’s heartbeat. He would be perfectly happy to stay like this for hours on end.

 

“I’m sorry, I think I forgot my manners a little earlier,” he said drowsily. “Anyway, how have you been, Edward?” 

 

Edward looked down at him for a moment, and then began to laugh. God, he loved the sound of Edward laughing, the feel of it vibrating through his chest. 

 

“I have been alright,” he responded, still giggling a little. He kissed Alfred’s head again. “But I am much, much better now I am with you.” 

 

Alfred hummed in contentment, beginning to trace patterns across his chest absentmindedly. 

“I was quite impressed by the letter you sent, you know,” he said conversationally. “It was very careful. Not like you,” he teased.

 

He felt Edward suddenly tense up slightly, and raised his head to look at him. 

 

“What is it?” 

 

“Nothing, it’s just...I knew I had to be careful, because...Alfred, do you remember that letter you sent me? The night I was shot?” 

 

He winced at the reminder. Something about Edward’s tone was causing a slight feeling of unease to settle in his stomach, although it was rather muted by the overwhelming feeling of contentment that had yet to dissipate. 

 

“What about it?” 

 

“Do you have it?” 

 

“Do  _ I  _ have it?” he repeated, bewildered. “Why would  _ I  _ have it? That letter was for you, Edward!” 

 

Edward swallowed. Alfred felt his heartbeat beginning to speed up under his chin. 

 

“Edward?” 

 

“That letter was in my coat pocket when I was shot, Alfred,” he whispered. “By the time I left the hospital, it was gone. I couldn’t find it anywhere. Someone must have taken it. I thought it was you.” 

 

Alfred shook his head slowly, trying to swallow down a rising sense of panic. He struggled to think clearly, logically. 

 

“Has anyone else mentioned it? Asked you about it?”

 

Edward shook his head, and Alfred exhaled. Surely, that was a good sign? 

Seeing the worry in Edward’s dark eyes, he leaned forwards, stroking his thumbs over his cheekbones and pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

 

“First of all, I need you to promise that you won’t blame yourself for this. You were...not well” - Alfred’s voice shook slightly as he remembered how terrified he had been - “and there was hardly anything you could have done. You promise not to blame yourself?” 

 

Edward nodded reluctantly, stroking his thumb over Alfred’s wrist. 

 

Alfred sighed, leaning his forehead against Edward’s.

 

“And secondly, if that letter had been read by the wrong person, then surely somebody would have already confronted one of us about it?” He shuddered at the idea. 

 

“Yes,” Edward responded quietly. “I would have thought so, too.” 

 

“It seems to me that the letter probably wasn’t read then” Alfred said slowly. “Perhaps it was...damaged…” 

He flinched a little at the mental image of the letter which he had written with such love being stained with Edward’s blood. Edward tightened his arms around him and kissed his forehead. 

 

“But if neither of us have heard any more about it, then I think the letter must have been disposed of without being read,” he said, trying to pull himself back together. “That’s the only thing that makes sense, isn’t it?” 

He wasn’t sure who he was trying to reassure more, Edward or himself. 

 

“I suppose…” 

 

“There is no use worrying about it now, Edward,” he said, kissing him gently on the nose. 

“Please, can’t we just...enjoy this time together? I only have a few hours before I have to be back at the palace.” 

 

Edward nodded, and they turned to face each other on the pillow. Hands intertwined, they looked at each other, Alfred wondering if he would ever stop being awestruck by Edward’s face, his eyes. He leaned over, pressing kisses to Edward’s forehead, cheeks, nose, ears, the corner of his mouth, as Edward did the same. 

 

Gradually, he began to realise just how much their lovemaking had tired him out. 

He firmly pushed the missing letter to the back of his mind, focusing on the warmth of Edward’s arms around him and the steady rhythm of his breathing. 

“I love you,” he murmured drowsily, his eyelashes fluttering shut. The only response from Edward was a soft snore. 

 

***

Alfred could not have been asleep more than an hour or two when he was jolted awake by a cry of pain and fear. 

 

He bolted upright. Oh God, Edward. Edward was hurting, Edward needed his help.

 

He gazed frantically around the dark room for a moment, before realising that Edward was still next to him in the bed. 

 

“Edward?” he asked uncertainly. 

Alfred turned to him and realised that his beautiful dark eyes were wide with fear. He was drawing in great, gasping breaths as he tried to calm himself, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. 

He looked like a small boy, vulnerable and lost. 

 

Alfred reached out to him immediately, as an overwhelming instinct to protect swept over him. 

He pulled Edward into his arms, rubbing soothing circles on his back, pressing kisses to his hair, his forehead, his eyelids. Edward buried his face in Alfred’s chest, squeezing his eyes tight shut. 

 

“I’m here, Edward,” he murmured into his hair. “I’m here.” 

 

Edward’s breathing gradually slowed as Alfred continued rubbing circles on his back. 

 

“Was it a bad dream?” Alfred asked quietly. 

 

Edward nodded against his chest.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

 

Edward was silent for a moment. 

 

“You don’t have to,” Alfred reassured him hurriedly. 

 

“No, I…I should talk about it,” Edward said quietly. “I’ve stayed silent long enough.” 

 

Alfred quirked an eyebrow at him. 

 

Edward sighed. “I was having a dream...about my sister.” 

 

Alfred frowned slightly, a little confused. 

“I’m sorry, Edward... I must confess, I didn’t even know you have a sister.” 

 

“I don’t,” Edward responded, his voice trembling, sounding like a small and frightened child. “Not anymore.”

 

His dark eyes met Alfred’s. They were haunted. 

 

“Her name was Rosalie. She was my best friend, Alfred. I lost her when she was six years old. I was nine. And...and I couldn’t save her...I never got to say goodbye…”

 

“Oh, my love,” Alfred said softly, tightening his arms around his lover, feeling his heart constrict. 

“I’m so sorry. You’ve never spoken about her before.” 

 

“I couldn’t. I wasn’t brave enough to. I used to dream about her though, all the time.” 

 

“But the dreams stopped?”

 

“Yes. For a while.”

 

“But now they’re back?”

 

Edward nodded slowly against his chest. “It would seem so.”

 

Alfred sighed, kissing his hair. “I wish I could take the pain away for you.” 

 

Edward looked up and smiled at him, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I love you, you know,” he said softly. 

 

Alfred traced his fingertips against his cheekbone. “Why would the dreams suddenly start again now, do you think?” 

 

Edward swallowed. “I suppose because I started speaking about my sister the other day. For the first time in over fifteen years.” 

 

“The other day?” Alfred repeated. “You mean...when you were with  _ her _ ?” 

Immediately, he felt a searing jealousy deep in his stomach, thinking of Edward speaking so intimately about his life with that woman, telling her about his sister before he had even told Alfred. 

He struggled to keep the jealousy out of his voice, knowing that it was not what Edward needed right now. But it seemed he was not very successful in this, for the other man reached out to stroke his cheek, looking at him apologetically. 

 

“Alfred, it’s not like that,” he said quietly. “Florence knew Rosalie. The three of us...we grew up together. We were best friends. Until the day when it was just the two of us.”

 

Edward’s eyes filled with tears again, and Alfred tightened his arms around him, kissing his forehead. 

 

“Alfred, I’m  _ not  _ in love with Florence, I swear, but…”

 

Alfred tensed. Wherever this was going, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it. 

 

“We were best friends, once. And then my sister was gone, and we stayed away from each other for years, neither of us ever speaking about her. I couldn’t bear the pain, I felt as if Rosalie was still standing there between us. And then we got engaged because our families desired it, and then of course I fell desperately in love with you” - he paused to press a kiss to Alfred’s lips - and everything became even more complicated. But the thing is, when Florence and I went away together” - Alfred flinched slightly - “we spoke about my sister for the first time in all those years. Neither of us have spoken about her to  _ anyone _ since she died, Alfred. And it made me realise that...Rosalie wouldn’t have wanted us to turn away from each other. She would have wanted Florence and I to be friends, even in her absence. And I didn’t realise before but...I  _ want  _ to be Florence’s friend. I want it to be how it was before, when we could talk to each other and laugh at each other and...trust each other.” 

 

Alfred just looked at him. He really didn’t know what to say. 

Even though he believed Edward, trusted that he wasn’t in love with her, still he felt jealousy like a knife twisting into his stomach at the thought that Edward wanted to talk and laugh with this woman he was going to marry and live with, this woman who would have everything that Alfred couldn’t have.

But he stayed silent, trying not to let his pain show on his face, knowing instinctively that Edward just needed him to listen. 

 

“But Alfred...I  _ can’t _ truly be friends with her, can I?”, Edward asked, his voice thick with tears. “Because we’re getting married, and because I  _ can’t _ fully trust her and she can’t fully trust me. She  _ shouldn’t  _ trust me, because I’m lying to her, hiding things from her.  _ This _ , you and me...I can never tell her about this. She can never know who I really am, she can never know how much I love you. All I can do is deceive her.” 

 

There was self-loathing in his voice, and Alfred swallowed past the lump in his throat as his own eyes welled with tears. He could not bear to see Edward hurting like this, at war with himself, hating himself.

Alfred loved him, he  _ needed  _ him. But nothing in the world was more important than Edward’s happiness. As much as it killed him, he knew he needed to give this beautiful man the option of walking away.

 

“Edward,” he croaked. “I can’t bear this, I can’t bear you to hate yourself like this. If it makes it any easier, if it makes you any happier...I’ll go. I’ll leave you alone, and then...then at least you won’t be lying to  _ her _ , you can be friends with her, and -” 

 

His words were cut off as Edward pressed his lips against his, kissing him fiercely, desperately.

 

“Please, please don’t say that,” Edward whispered against his lips. “I’ve promised not to abandon you - do you really think I could bear it if  _ you  _ abandoned  _ me _ ? Alfred, I love you  _ so  _ much.”

 

“Oh, thank god,” Alfred responded, an overwhelming sense of relief coursing through him. “I don’t know what I would have done if you’d agreed to that.” 

 

Edward laughed a little through his tears and Alfred kissed his forehead, happy to have lifted his spirits even if only for a moment. 

 

“So, what are you going to do, then?” he asked tentatively.

 

“I have to keep my promise, I have to marry her,” Edward choked out. 

Alfred tried not to flinch. He knew it was coming, but that did not stop his stomach from twisting sharply in pain and jealousy. 

 

“But I don’t want to hurt her, Alfred,” Edward whispered. “I don’t...I can’t…”

His sobs redoubled, his whole body shaking in Alfred’s arms. 

“I’m a liar, Alfred...I’m a false friend…” 

 

Alfred felt as though his heart was breaking in his chest. He didn’t know what to do. 

He let Edward cry against his chest, gently rocking him and rubbing circles on his back.

 

“You are the kindest, bravest, sweetest man I have ever met, Edward,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to his hair. 

“And I love you.  _ Always _ . Remember that.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, a wedding...
> 
> As always, comments and kudos make my day <3 <3 xxx


	13. A Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Florence's wedding day has finally arrived, and it isn't easy for anyone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait everybody, this last week and a half has been crazy!
> 
> I did give you a lot of fluff last chapter...but this chapter, Edward is getting married. So prepare for somewhat less fluff and more pain!

The opulent, high-ceilinged room was full of bustling people.

Uniformed servants carrying around seemingly endless vases of flowers, white petals cascading over the brim. Caterers and kitchen staff laying out canapes and vol-au-vents and all the most fashionable French dishes. Perhaps there would even be oysters and  champagne served, Alfred thought with a pang.

And every moment, it seemed that yet another guest arrived, some familiar to Alfred and some new, each of them making a beeline for Edward so that they could shake his hand and congratulate him.

Usually, of course, Alfred was in his element when he was standing in a grand room, full of busy activity and people mingling and greeting each other.

But he could not bear it today.

He could not bear it when he was standing here in Monteviot House, in enemy territory, the family home of _that woman_ , and of her father, the man who had threatened his Edward.

He could not bear it when he knew that all of them, including him, were here for one reason: Edward’s wedding to Florence Kerr, which was due to take place in less than two hours from now.

Alfred didn’t quite understand how this wedding had somehow crept up on him. It was not as if he had not known Edward planned to marry her - indeed, that knowledge had kept him awake at nights, his stomach twisting sharply in jealousy so that he almost bent over in pain.

But Edward had postponed his wedding, if they had kept to the original plans he would have been married for a month already and, knowing this, Alfred had clung to that precious extra time.

They had both been trying to push away the reality of their situation. Even as they travelled together up to Monteviot House. Even last night, when Edward had finally managed to get away from all the other men who were drinking with him, congratulating him and making bawdy jokes, sneaking into the room where Alfred had been lodged so that they could cling to each other tightly, making desperate love one more time before the day of reckoning arrived.

But now, inevitably, they were out of time. And Alfred did not know what to do.

 

The din in the room seemed only to overwhelm him all the more, voices and laughter echoing and reverberating in his head. He was struggling slightly to get enough oxygen into his lungs - the room around him seemed to be spinning almost as badly as it had been on the day Sir Robert had brought them the news about Edward being wounded. Vaguely, he wondered, as he had done that day, if he was going to collapse or be sick. At least on that day, kindhearted Miss Coke had been by his side. She had seemed to know, somehow, how close he was to collapse, keeping a warm and reassuring hand on his arm and keeping him upright and steady despite her gentleness.

Part of him wished she was next to him now - he could hardly turn to Edward for comfort.

But no - she had gone upstairs with _that woman._ Helping her with her wedding dress, he presumed. After all, the two women were old friends.

He glanced over at Edward, his heart twisting painfully in his chest.

He was standing between his father and Lothian, shaking the hand of guest after guest, with his father’s hand tightly gripping his shoulder. It did not look like a reassuring gesture. Edward looked up, his gorgeous brown eyes meeting Alfred’s, and Alfred could see immediately how terrified he was. How trapped he felt, standing between those two men.

He wanted so badly to wrap Edward in his arms, kiss him until his eyes lit up and the smile that he loved so much appeared again. Part of him even wished he could strike Lothian; anything that would wipe that infuriating, self-satisfied smirk off his face.

He couldn’t do any of that, of course. But Edward still needed to change into his wedding clothes for the ceremony - and, although Alfred could not help him escape from the wedding itself, he could at least help him to escape from Lothian, from his father, from all these endless people congratulating him.

They still had two hours until Edward was a married man. They would have to make the most of them.

 

His knees seemed to be shaking slightly as he approached the three men. He could feel the hostility radiating from Lothian, and determinedly avoided his eyes as he spoke.

 

“My apologies for the interruption, gentlemen,” he said quietly. “I appreciate that there are many guests to greet, but as the bride” - he almost choked on the word - “has already retreated upstairs to change, I think perhaps it is high time that the groom followed suit. Would you care for assistance, Drummond?”

 

As usual, the formal address felt strange and wrong in his mouth. His stomach twisted in pain - not only was he about to witness the wedding of the man he loved more than anything in the world, he couldn’t even talk to him properly.

He kept his eyes locked on Edward’s, knowing how careful he had to be in front of Lothian and Charles Drummond, but knowing too that Edward would understand what he was offering.

 

Edward nodded a little too eagerly, his dark eyes full of gratitude.

 

“Yes indeed, Lord Alfred,” he said quietly. “I should be most grateful for your help.”

 

He twisted away from his father’s grip, meeting Charles’s eyes defiantly.

 

“Lord Alfred is going to help me,” he said firmly, “and then we shall come back downstairs. I promise I will be in the chapel with time to spare before Florence comes up the aisle, Father.”

 

Edward and his father were glaring at each other - clearly, there was something simmering underneath Edward’s words, something tense and angry. But Alfred barely registered this; he was struggling not to flinch at Edward’s reference to Florence walking down the aisle.

 

Needing reassurance, he reached out to grasp Edward’s shoulder. Surely _that,_ at least, was acceptable - men did that with their friends, didn’t they?

Edward made a slight, almost imperceptible movement, as though his first instinct had been to reach up and twine his fingers through Alfred’s, but he froze as though suddenly thinking better of it, his fingers twitching slightly.

 

Alfred ached with the need to hold him - but instead, he simply gestured with a trembling hand up the stairs.

 

“After you,” he said quietly, gazing at Edward from underneath his eyelashes.

 

Avoiding his father’s eyes now, Edward practically darted up the stairs, fleeing the crowded room.

 

“We will be back shortly, sir,” Alfred muttered reluctantly to Edward’s father. He bolted up the stairs after Edward.

 

He soon found Edward standing in front of the mirror in his room. He was shaking, his breathing shallow and irregular as he stared at his reflection, looking utterly lost.

Closing the door gently, Alfred approached him slowly, wrapping his arms loosely around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder.

 

“How can I help?” he asked quietly.

 

Edward made a noise that sounded like a choked, desperate sob, and turned around, wrapping Alfred tightly in his arms and burying his face in his hair. Alfred clutched him back, face buried in Edward’s chest, inhaling his scent.

He could not think of anything to say that would reassure him. He wasn’t sure if he could say anything without crumbling himself.

All he could do was reassure Edward with his presence, let Edward hold onto him.

 

Gently, he stroked circles on Edward’s back. He could still feel him trembling.

“I love you,” Alfred whispered into his chest. Edward kissed his head, and Alfred felt tears on his hair.

He looked up to see tears silently coursing down Edward’s face. He felt as though his heart was breaking in his chest.

 

“Edward…”

 

He took Edward’s face in his hands and, standing on his tiptoes, began kissing the tears away.

Immediately, Edward brought his hands up to cradle Alfred’s face in turn, and desperately pressed kisses on his lips even as he wept. He tasted like salt. Alfred kissed him back, struggling to hold back his own tears.

 

“I can’t….I can’t...I can’t do this, Alfred,” Edward choked out.

Alfred fought back against the answer he wanted to give: then _don’t._

It was too late. It would not help.

 

Alfred sighed, resting his forehead against Edward’s for a moment.

 

“I know how hard it is, my darling,” he whispered. “Believe me, I know.”

His voice cracked and he swallowed, trying to compose himself. He could not break down now, when Edward needed his help.

 

“But you are the strongest, bravest person I have ever met in my life, Edward. If anybody in the world can do this, you can. I know it.”

 

Edward looked at him, looking as lost and vulnerable as a young child. Alfred kissed him softly on the lips again, stroking his thumbs over Edward’s cheekbones.

 

“And remember that I’ll always be here. You can’t get rid of me that easily, Drummond,” he teased, in a desperate attempt to lift Edward’s spirits. Edward half laughed through his tears and wrapped his arms tightly around Alfred again, his breathing gradually beginning to even out as he inhaled the scent of Alfred’s hair.

Alfred squeezed his eyes shut, childishly hoping it might help him to forget what was happening. He pressed a gentle kiss to Edward’s chest, directly over his scar.

 

They stood there, locked in each other’s arms, until Edward’s sobs quietened. Alfred was trying desperately not to think how long it might be before Edward would be able to hold him like this again.

 

“I love you so much,” Edward whispered into his hair.

 

“Same here,” Alfred whispered back. Edward sighed, and pressed another kiss to the top of his head.

 

After a moment of silence, Edward spoke up again tentatively.

 

“Alfred?”

 

“Yes, Edward?”

 

“Will...will you help me get ready?”

 

Alfred looked up into those pleading dark eyes, and nodded, swallowing down the pain. If Edward needed him, then of course he would stay.

 

***

 

Florence stared at herself in the mirror as Wilhemina pinned the veil to her hair, chattering brightly away as was her habit.

 

Wilhemina’s chatter did seem somehow a little more forced, a little more determinedly bright than usual, Florence thought to herself.

But no, she was probably just imagining things. She felt most peculiar. Everything seemed somehow surreal, and not in the pleasantest way.

 

Her reflection showed a tall and beautiful woman, porcelain skin glowing and butterscotch curls cascading down past her shoulders. Her dress was white, as was the fashion since the Queen had gotten married in the same colour, and her hazel eyes were standing out vividly against the pale dress. Her waist was cinched in, her skirts flowing gracefully down around her, and her neckline was somewhat lower than she normally wore.

She knew full well that the dress was showing her figure to its best advantage; she even, if she was being honest, knew that there might be men watching the ceremony who would envy Edward. She looked just as she’d always dreamed she would on her wedding day.

 

But she never could have guessed that she would feel so strangely removed from herself; it was almost as if she was looking at another woman, rather than her own reflection. The woman in the mirror looked beautiful, calm and collected. How was it possible, Florence wondered, that she could look like that, and yet inwardly feel like a trembling little girl, on the brink of full-blown panic?

What was _wrong_ with her? Wasn’t a woman’s wedding day supposed to be one of the happiest days of her life?

She was being ridiculous again, she tried to tell herself. What was there to be frightened of? She was finally going to be escaping from her father’s house. And she was marrying kind, sweet, caring Edward Drummond, her oldest friend. She could scarcely be getting a better husband, she told herself firmly.

And yet, she could not pretend she did not know what a husband and wife were expected to do on their wedding night. After all, some of her friends already had husbands, and they had regaled her with stories. And the thought of doing... _that_....with Edward, who had once been her partner in her childhood games....

 

Perhaps this was just how all women felt on their wedding day. Perhaps she would feel unimaginable joy once she and Edward were sharing a bed.

But she couldn’t keep bottling these feelings inside herself - she was desperate for some kind of reassurance, _anything_ to help convince her that she wasn’t going crazy.

 

“Wilhemina?” she asked quietly.

 

Her friend started slightly, seemingly a little taken aback by Florence suddenly speaking when she had been silent for so long.

 

“Yes, Florence?” she responded.

 

Now that it came to it, Florence wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted to say.

 

“Do you think it’s usual, for a bride to feel this...nervous on her wedding day?”

 

“How nervous?” Wilhemina asked hesitantly.

 

“Terrified.” Florence felt so ashamed to admit it that she couldn’t speak above a whisper.

 

Wilhemina looked at her, her wide blue eyes full of compassion, and something else that Florence couldn’t quite read.

 

“Getting married is a huge adventure that changes everything in a woman’s life,” she said quietly, sympathetically. “Obviously, I cannot give the best advice, being as yet unmarried myself. But I expect most women feel at least a little unsure - it is frightening to step into the unknown, after all.”

 

Florence nodded slowly, although she did not feel particularly reassured. Wilhemina’s explanation still didn’t explain why she felt like _this_ , like she was on the brink of a panic attack. She tried once again to voice her fear, the nagging doubt at the back of her mind, needing someone else to tell her that she was being absurd and paranoid.

 

“And...and Edward? He loves me, doesn’t he? Or, he will love me once we are married?”

 

Florence looked carefully at Wilhemina’s reflection behind her in the mirror as she spoke, waiting for her to smile and roll her eyes. She felt her heart sink as Wilhemina flushed slightly and avoided her gaze in the mirror, focusing intently on the clasp at the back of Florence’s dress even though she had already finished dressing her.

 

“Of course Mr Drummond loves you, Florence,” Wilhemina said, her voice overly bright, her eyes still determinedly fixed on the clasp of the dress. “How could he not?”

 

Florence stared at her in the mirror. Why did her friend seem so reluctant to meet her gaze?

For a few moments, silence hung between the two of them, heavy, tense and awkward.

Then, her face still flushed, Wilhemina turned hastily away.

 

“You look beautiful, Florence, truly. I’m going to go and see if they are ready to begin yet.”

 

She was stumbling slightly over her words, and she almost tripped over herself in her haste to get out of the room.

 

Florence tried to swallow past the lump in her throat as her eyes began to fill with tears. It had been stupid to try and talk to Wilhemina about this - why couldn’t she have just kept her mouth shut? Perhaps she had become so paranoid that she was projecting her own anxiety onto Wilhemina? But the way she had reacted made it seem like Florence’s doubts didn’t exist only in her mind - Wilhemina did not seem at all convinced that Edward loved her, either.

 

It’s alright, Florence tried to reassure herself. Edward and I have already discussed the fact that this was not exactly a love match. The love will come after the wedding.

But still, she felt nauseous. There was something Wilhemina wasn’t telling her. The memory of that letter her friend had sent her when the court went to Scotland floated to the front of her mind. Why was it that Wilhemina, once again, seemed to know something about her husband-to-be that she didn’t?

Florence struggled to calm her breathing down, staring at herself in the mirror. Her heart already pounding uncomfortably fast, she jumped when the door opened again behind her.

She looked around. Wilhemina had returned - and, as if Florence didn’t feel anxious enough, she saw that her own father was standing in the doorway with her.

 

“Honestly, how long must you women take to get ready?” her father asked impatiently. “Everyone is waiting out there for you, including the insolent pup who has agreed to marry you. So what in God’s name is the hold-up, girl?”

 

Florence swallowed. No, she didn’t feel ready, nowhere near ready.

But, looking at her father’s scornful face, the way he was insistently shoving his arm out for her to take, she reminded herself that, once this wedding was over, no matter what else happened, at least she would be out of her father’s house. At least Edward would be protecting her. That was what mattered most, she supposed. She steeled herself, standing up taller.

 

“I apologise, Father,” she responded, struggling to keep her voice steady. “I will come with you now.”

 

She placed her hand cautiously on his proffered arm, hoping he would not notice how much she was shaking. But then, he’d never noticed or cared about her discomfort before - why would he suddenly start now? He might be giving her away, as it was termed, but she doubted he felt it as any great loss. At least she was spared any particular heartbreak at leaving home. She could feel the heavy weight of anxiety in her stomach, not knowing what a future with Edward would hold - but at the same time, she was desperate to escape from her past.

 

Wilhemina bent down behind her, carefully holding up the train of her dress. She turned her head to catch Wilhemina’s eyes. Her friend still looked somewhat awkward and uncomfortable, but she gave Florence a somewhat tentative smile. She tried her best to smile back, wondering once again if she had just been paranoid earlier.

Clearly tired of waiting, her father turned his hand up, pinching her arm sharply. She flinched away, despite being used to such treatment - she had endured it all through her childhood, and she knew her mother had too.

But this was the last time she would have to put up with it, she realised. She placed her hand back on his arm, digging her nails into him as much as she could, one final little act of rebellion. An odd sense of triumph coursed through her, despite her fear.

 

Whatever she and Edward felt for each other, she was certainly going to be far luckier in her husband than her mother had been in hers.

It was time for her to go to him.

 

***

 

Alfred couldn’t remember why he was doing this.

 

The whole chapel seemed to be a blur as the room spun around him.

 

A collective hushed murmuring started up as the doors opened. Turning his head, Alfred saw Lothian begin walking up the aisle, Florence Kerr on his arm. Soon to be Mrs Florence Drummond.

She looked beautiful, if a little pale. She was standing tall and proud, determinedly looking away from her father, staring straight at Edward, who was standing waiting for her at the front.

Alfred swallowed, wondering if the wedding would be called off, cancelled perhaps, if he were to vomit. He doubted it.

 

It would probably be easier if he just kept his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, he told himself. But, as always, he could not keep his gaze from Edward.

The man he loved was standing at the front of the church, as beautiful as ever with his dark curls falling in his eyes. But his skin was almost as pale as it had been on that terrible day when Alfred had first visited him in the hospital. As ever, his face was dangerously open and honest, no matter how hard he tried, his chocolate eyes wide with fear and guilt. Alfred wasn’t even sure Edward was truly seeing his surroundings - he looked completely frozen up there.

 

A violent urge arose in him, an urge to sprint up to the front of the church, knocking aside everyone between him and Edward so that he could reach him before Florence did, grab his hand and run. Surely they could find somewhere to go, anywhere…

 

He looked down at the floor, forcing the ridiculous urge down.

It was a fool’s dream. Edward had made the choice to go through with this wedding, and Alfred had accepted his choice.

What else could he do?

 

***

 

Edward couldn’t remember why he was doing this.

 

The whole chapel seemed to be a blur as the room spun around him.

 

A collective hushed murmuring started up as the doors opened at the far end of the room. His heart pounding so loudly he wondered that everyone congregated in the chapel could not hear it, Edward watched as Lothian came in, with Florence gliding on his arm, straight-backed with her eyes fixed on him.

 

Florence. His oldest friend. Soon to be his wife.

 

Oh god, he couldn’t do this.

 

Maybe if he just sprinted forward now, grabbed Alfred and ran? He could apologise to Florence later...surely he and Alfred could find somewhere safe to go…

 

He shook himself mentally as Florence drew closer. He was being absurd. Of course he couldn’t just grab Alfred and run!

And he certainly couldn’t abandon Florence - it would utterly humiliate her. And he had made a promise to protect her. Although somehow, that promise had seemed a lot easier to fulfil when she wasn’t gliding up the aisle towards him, never taking her eyes from his face…  


And then she was level with him, her repulsive father pulling her by the arm and placing her hand in his. Edward could feel her hand trembling almost as much as his were. He tried to smile reassuringly at her, hoping it didn’t look too much like a grimace.

 

“Hello,” she whispered. He tried to greet her in return, but his voice didn’t seem to be working very well. He nodded at her.

He kept his eyes fixed on her face as the priest began to speak, determined not to look over at Alfred even though he could feel his gaze on him. If he met Alfred’s gorgeous blue eyes, saw the pain reflecting his own, he knew he would crumble.

 

The rest of the ceremony seemed to pass in a blur. He repeated the priest’s words, barely even registering what he was saying. He could not afford to think about the things he was promising too closely. He slid a ring onto Florence’s finger as she slid one onto his in return, feeling almost as though he was watching it all happen to somebody else. He shivered slightly, thinking for a moment that something cold had brushed against him. Was it the echo of his little sister, watching in bewilderment as her brother pledged himself to the girl who had smeared mud all over his face and hunted for worms with him? _I know, Rosalie_ , he thought wryly. _I don’t understand it either._

 

“I do,” he heard Florence whisper. He swallowed, and repeated her words, his voice cracking.

 

“I do.”

 

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride,” the priest declared smilingly.

 

Edward desperately tried not to flinch, cursing himself for not even considering this part. He supposed one kiss hardly signified, now that he and Florence would be husband and wife for the rest of their lives. Yet to do it while he _knew_ that the man he loved was watching felt like another betrayal on top of everything else.

He forced himself to lean in and place a perfunctory kiss on her mouth. God, it felt so _wrong_ when he compared it to the magic, the spark that flared in him when Alfred’s lips were on his.

 

He broke away quickly, noticing that she did the same, looking at him with an expression of unease in her hazel eyes. Applause rose up from the watching crowd, and he took her hand gently, pulling her along behind him so that she could not see the expression on his face.

 

Almost immediately, they were swarmed by well-wishers.

Edward was sure he did not even recognise some of these guests, the seemingly endless stream of men enthusiastically shaking him by the hand, the women gushing over Florence and kissing her on the cheek.

He was struggling to breathe, he felt suffocated. He could scarcely believe that he was able to stand there talking to people normally, thanking them for their congratulations, when all he wanted to do was sink to the floor and weep.

 

He had really done it. Florence was now his wife. Of course he knew all the reasons he had decided to go through with this wedding, but he had still not been prepared for this fear, this hot prickly feeling of guilt.

He wanted so desperately to be friends with her, to treat her well and make her happy. But he could as easily cut his own heart out as abandon Alfred, and that was something he could never tell her. This marriage was already based on lies, and he hated himself for having to deceive her.

 

He looked desperately around for Alfred, who seemed to be one of the only people who had not yet come up to offer his congratulations to them. He couldn’t blame him, he supposed - and yet Edward _needed_ to see him, it was the only thing that might soothe him.

It was a few moments before he spotted him, and for a split second he felt a chill creep over his skin, thinking that Alfred, unable to bear it, had simply run away. When he finally saw him, he immediately felt as if his heart was breaking in his chest all over again.

 

There he was, standing in the far corner, clearly trying his hardest not to draw attention to himself. Miss Coke and the Duchess of Sutherland were with him, Miss Coke with her hand on his arm, Harriet Sutherland seemingly trying to shield him from the curious gaze of the other guests. Although he wondered a little uneasily how much the two women knew, Edward was grateful to them for standing with Alfred. His eyes looked bloodshot, and Edward could perceive how much his hands were shaking even from the other side of the room.

He longed more than anything to stride over and pull Alfred into his arms, press kisses onto his hair and whisper reassurances in his ear. But of course he couldn’t - and besides, what could he possibly say that would reassure either Alfred or himself at this point?

Still clutching Florence’s hand, Edward began dazedly following the crowd to the ballroom. He couldn’t look at Florence, for fear she would see the shame on his face, and he couldn’t look over at Alfred again, for fear he would crumble. All he could do was look straight ahead, trying to blink his tears back so he could see clearly.

 

For Edward, the entire reception seemed to pass by in a blur. Congratulations continued pouring in on all sides, forcing him to grit his teeth and try to smile, wishing he could scream at people that their well wishes were the very last thing he needed. The ballroom around him whirled sickeningly as he danced with Florence, and then with numerous other young women, none of whose names he could remember, so as to more easily avoid Florence’s eyes.

He thought longingly of that day in Scotland when he and Alfred had sneaked off to join the servants’ party in the woods, where they had giggled as they giddily whirled each other around, feeling blissfully free as nobody had seemed to look twice at them.

 

Together, he and Florence cut the first ceremonial slice of the cake, and Edward stumbled his way through a short speech. He wondered why he suddenly felt so self-conscious and ungainly, his tongue seemingly struggling to form word. He had made countless speeches before, both at university and in Parliament, many of greater significance than this one.

His heart was pounding deafeningly in his ears, making him wonder if everyone else could hear it too, and his face was burning. He did not look directly at Florence, even as he proposed a toast to her - and he did not look at Alfred, despite the fact that every fibre of his being seemed to be crying out for him.

Gratefully, he sat down, looking fixedly at his plate as uniformed waiters began serving expensive delicacies to the guests. It wouldn’t have mattered to him if it was caviar or the kind of gruel served in workhouses, Edward thought to himself - he couldn’t taste any of it anyway. He could barely even swallow.

He toyed with his food, sitting in near silence as a swell of loud chatter rose around him on all sides. He barely noticed that Florence was silent too, scarcely touching her food any more than he was.

 

Absorbed in his thoughts, he lost track of the passing hours. Before he knew it, his father was tapping him on the shoulder. Edward jumped slightly, before leaning in to better hear Charles over the din.

 

“Edward my boy, I think it is about time you went to change into your travelling clothes and made sure everything is packed, don’t you agree?”

 

Edward stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending. Then a nauseous weight settled in his stomach like a stone as his brain finally caught up.

The wedding itself was finally coming to an end, and he had survived - but that was only the first hurdle. Now, he was expected to collect his things and go on a trip, alone with Florence - his friend. No, not just his friend now - his wife. And he wasn’t stupid, he knew how they were expected to occupy themselves. But god, he had been repressing these thoughts so desperately - when Alfred had bitterly asked him about it a few weeks ago, he had flinched and merely muttered that he would cross that bridge when he came to it. Well, it seemed now he was coming to it.

He couldn’t think clearly, a fog of panic seemed to be spreading over his brain, making him slow and sluggish. He started to stand up, trying to hide how much his hands were shaking.

 

“Would you like me to come and assist you, Edward?” Charles asked.

 

“Alfred,” Edward blurted. His father cocked his head, frowning in confusion. Edward could feel Florence’s eyes on him as well. He cursed himself and tried again. “Thank you, Father; I meant to say that I’m sure my friend, Lord Alfred, would be happy to assist me. I will go upstairs now; could you ask him to meet me up there?

Thankfully, his father didn’t seem suspicious, but merely nodded and turned to fetch Alfred. Edward still didn’t dare look in his direction until they were alone together. He took Florence’s hand and squeezed it gently, still determinedly avoiding her eyes, before turning and practically running towards the privacy of his room.

 

Lothian’s valet had offered to help him pack, but he hastily declined - he did not want any other person in the room with him except the man he loved.

He had just finished shoving the last of his travelling clothes into his suitcase, when there was a hesitant knock on the door.

 

“Edward?”

 

Recognising the melodious voice instantly, he practically gasped with relief, bolting to the door and flinging it open.

Walking in and closing the door behind himself, Alfred just stared at him for a moment. Then, simultaneously, they flung themselves at each other, both of them pressing kisses desperately all over the other man’s face. Edward could feel the tear tracks on his face, and taste Alfred’s tears on his own lips.

 

“I’m sorry, my darling, I’m so, so, sorry”, Edward whispered between frantic kisses.

 

“Shh….it’s alright, Edward,” Alfred responded quietly, stroking his face gently.

 

Edward let out a hollow, mirthless laugh. He felt slightly manic, out of control.

 

_“Alright?”_

 

Alfred grimaced, and Edward felt another stab of pain and remorse that he couldn’t do anything to make this easier for him.

 

“Well, no,” Alfred admitted with a choked sob. “It’s not alright. But we can survive it.”

 

Edward sighed and clung to him, burying his face in his hair. “If it were possible, Alfred, I would have married you a million times over.”

 

With his face pressed against Edward’s chest, Alfred made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

 

“God, I love you, Edward,” he murmured. “I love you more than anyone has ever loved anyone else. I would do _anything_ for you. Well, I suppose that’s clear by now, isn’t it?”

 

Edward tilted Alfred’s face up gently. “ I love you more than anything in the world as well. No matter where I am, no matter who I am with” - he felt Alfred flinch - “that will always be true. You know that, don’t you?”

 

Alfred nodded, and Edward kissed him fiercely. “Good.”

 

Alfred sighed again, his forehead still pressed against Edward’s. “I miss you already.”

 

Edward swallowed. He couldn’t seem to speak past the huge lump in his throat.

 

Alfred seemed to understand his silence, pressing a kiss to his nose. “Are you all packed, my darling?”

 

Edward nodded mutely.

 

“Then I’m afraid we must head back down,” Alfred said, his voice breaking.

 

Edward nodded again, feeling lost and dazed. Grabbing his case in one hand, he began to stumble towards the door, but found his path blocked by his golden-haired lover.

Grabbing him by his shirt collar, Alfred stood up on his tiptoes and kissed him, somehow more fiercely and passionately than he had ever kissed him before. When he finally drew back, Edward could do nothing but stare at him, his head spinning.

 

Alfred smiled at him, though his eyes were still brimming with tears. “Just to keep me going,” he whispered.

 

***

As the valet packed both of their suitcases into the carriage, Edward sat down next to Florence, still struggling to avoid her eyes. She, too, was silent, gazing down at her hands in her lap.

He stared out of the window, at all the wedding guests who were still cheering and applauding. There was his father, talking quietly to Lothian. There was his mother, beaming and wiping away tears. There was Miss Coke, one hand clasping the bouquet she had just caught.

 

And there was Alfred, standing next to Miss Coke as she placed her other hand on his arm. He met Edward’s gaze, and once again Edward had that overwhelming feeling of getting lost in those bright blue eyes.

They simply stared at each other for a moment, silently trying to communicate everything they could not say aloud. Alfred’s eyes filled once again with tears, and yet still he attempted to smile bravely at Edward.

 

Then, before Edward could follow his urge to open the carriage door and leap out, closing the distance between them, he felt the carriage suddenly jolt into motion.

They gathered speed, turning the corner - and Alfred vanished from his sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the honeymoon...but I promise, things will EVENTUALLY start to get a bit easier for the boys (and for Florence!)
> 
> Comments and kudos make my day, as always <3 <3


	14. Out of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Florence are on their honeymoon in Italy - and it's not the most romantic honeymoon a couple has ever had....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Lucky Moony as a birthday present - so happy birthday, LM, and thank you so much for always being such a beautiful and supportive member of the Drumfred community, for always giving me wonderful advice and making me laugh and blessing me with your gorgeous fics and for generally being an absolute sweetheart! Here is your present from me - I'm sorry I couldn't give you a happier chapter!
> 
> Buckle in, everyone, because this is one majorly awkward and uncomfortable honeymoon....

“And...checkmate.”

 

“What? Again?!” Edward exclaimed. 

 

Florence smiled a little smugly. “Looks like somebody needs to do a bit more work on their chess skills.” 

 

Edward sat back on his chair, arms folded, grumbling to himself. 

 

“Oh, Edward,” she said amusedly. “You never were a very graceful loser, were you? Remember when we used to race down to the lake? You were always so convinced you would win, and yet...” 

 

“Yes, yes,” he responded, grinning a little despite himself. “No need to remind me of  _ all  _ my humiliating defeats at your hands. At least let me cling onto a  _ little  _ bit of my pride, Florence.” 

 

“Well, you always had Rosalie convinced you were going to win, as well.” Florence’s smile was suddenly a little forced. “So at least there was  _ one  _ other person who had faith in you.”

 

Edward sucked in his breath slightly at the mention of her name. He tried to smile.

“Well, I was her wise and heroic older brother, you know - she  _ had  _ to believe I would win. Even though you kept proving her wrong.” 

 

Florence looked at him in concern. Her smile had vanished. 

 

“I’m sorry, Edward,” she said quietly, her tone serious and contrite all of a sudden. “I shouldn’t have mentioned…”

 

“No, I’m alright,” he responded. He smiled at her a little awkwardly, trying to show that he meant it. “Or at least, I’m getting there.”

 

It was still painful, difficult, for him to hear Rosalie’s name, to speak about her and to conjure memories - but it was definitely getting easier, gradually. The nightmares that had woken him on the night he had first made love with Alfred had not stopped, but they were certainly becoming less frequent. 

And, even though it hurt, somehow he felt that speaking aloud about his sister was the right thing to do. In some ways, it made him feel braver and stronger, now that he had made the choice not to repress his memories but to speak openly about them. 

 

“I think it’s helping,” he said slowly, “speaking about her properly. I spent so many years trying to hide from it all, but I think that just made the wound fester. We  _ should  _ be talking about her, cherishing the memories of her - we owe her that much, don’t we?” 

 

Florence nodded, blinking away tears. 

 

There was a slightly awkward moment of silence as Edward gazed around, trying to think of something that might distract Florence and lift her spirits again, now that their chess game was finished.

Ever since they had arrived at this beautiful little villa in Siena, Tuscany, which was clearly intended for intimacy between couples, he he had been desperately searching for ways to distract her from one moment to the next. He knew it was highly unusual for a man not to take full advantage of being alone with his pretty new wife, in such a setting as this. But then, he supposed he was a highly unusual husband. 

 

He stood up, leaning out over the balcony, breathing in the peaceful early evening air. It was still tolerably warm - the sun was only just beginning to set, its’ rays glinting off the surface of the lake in the grounds. The sight gave him an idea.

 

“Florence?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“Speaking of all those times you beat me to the lake - shall we take a walk down to the lake in the grounds here, before the sun sets? For old times’ sake?” 

 

She smiled, and Edward thought he saw something like relief in her eyes for a moment. 

 

“I like that plan,” she said quietly. “Wait here a moment, I’ll fetch my cloak.”

 

As she dashed inside, Edward had a sudden, vivid memory of sunlight glinting off another lake, in France, as he and Alfred had splashed around, giggling and completely naked, their skin brushing against each other. 

He swallowed, feeling simultaneously overwhelmed by guilt, sharp desire and a longing to see Alfred. His Alfred. 

Throughout their journey from Scotland to Italy, Edward hadn’t been able to get the image of Alfred’s face out of his mind. He kept dwelling on the pain in his eyes as he had bravely attempted to smile at him in farewell. 

He couldn’t stand thinking about Alfred, left behind, trying to go on with his life at court while he waited for Edward’s return. 

 

Every hour since he and Florence had arrived in Italy, he had been longing to write to Alfred, to comfort him and explain how much he was missing him, as well as to share with him all the wonderful things he had seen in Tuscany - the shell-shaped Piazza Del Campo here in Siena, the beautiful soaring church domes in the stunning city that shared Florence’s name.  Every time he had gazed at the incredible artworks, heard about the region’s fascinating stories, he had thought of how much they would have enthralled Alfred, how much Alfred would have loved to share this experience with him. He wanted so badly to pour all of this into letters to his lover - but, spending almost all of his time alone with his new wife, he did not dare to write even one. He had not forgotten Alfred’s letter which had vanished - its disappearance still made him uneasy, even though Alfred had tried to reassure him, and he was sure Alfred had not been as unconcerned as he had tried to appear, either. 

He could not risk Florence catching sight of a letter to Alfred before it was sent, wondering about the intimacy. Alfred was evidently thinking along the same lines, for Edward had not received any letters from him, either. So it seemed they would both stay silent. It seemed he would have to wait almost a month until he could hear from Alfred, when he was back in London and, God willing, would be able to hold him in his arms again. 

 

Until then, though, Edward imagined that his lover would be plagued by mental images of he and Florence together. He supposed that he would feel the same in Alfred’s position. 

Despite the fact that he missed Alfred so much it hurt, he had to admit that he had been enjoying Florence’s company. It was nice to see her delight at finally seeing the sights she had read so much about, to talk to her about books and politics, and to continue rebuilding their friendship. They were even on their way, he believed, to being able to reminisce about the past without becoming overwhelmed by pain and grief. 

He supposed Alfred would be far from thrilled to hear him say that he enjoyed his new wife’s company. But then, it wasn’t as if he had been enjoying her in the way that husbands were expected to enjoy their wives on their honeymoon - that, at least, might give Alfred some small comfort. 

 

Edward wasn’t entirely sure if Florence had noticed, but he had been trying his utmost to fill their days with as much sightseeing and as many activities as possible. He felt a twinge of guilt when he admitted it to himself, but if he was being honest he was hoping to keep Florence distracted, and exhausted.

 

He knew that he was expected to consummate the marriage before they returned to London, make Florence his wife in every sense of the word...but the very thought filled him with fear and self-loathing.  

He could not bear the idea of being unfaithful to Alfred. For one thing, the thought of causing Alfred yet  _ more  _ pain filled his stomach with hot, roiling guilt and shame. And for another, the idea of being with Florence like  _ that  _ felt profoundly uncomfortable and wrong. He could not remember ever in his life wanting to bed  _ any  _ woman - not that he had really thought twice about that until Alfred had come bursting into his life, with his bright blue eyes and his golden hair smelling like fresh rain. But Florence...he wanted to bed her least of all.

Not that Florence wasn’t beautiful, of course - he could see objectively that she was, in the same way that the works of art they had been examining in the museums around Siena were aesthetically pleasing. Edward was fully aware that there were many men who would give their right arm to bed her. But he could not even imagine being aroused by his wife. 

Obviously, she was not Alfred, which was bad enough in itself. But it was more than that...whenever he looked at her, he remembered the thin, angular little girl who used to poke him in the cheek, grinning toothily at him as she beat him to the lake, trying to smear mud on his face and arguing with him constantly over which of them was Rosalie’s favourite. 

 

How,  _ how _ , had he reached a point in his life where he had no choice but to take that girl to his bed? The wedding was over, and they had this beautiful villa to themselves - a villa so intimate that he longed to share it with Alfred. He didn’t have any more reasons to delay it, he knew that - or at least, no reasons that he could share with Florence and expect her to accept. And yet still, he kept putting it off, trying his best to distract her with sightseeing, exploring, reading, chess…. _ anything  _ that might make her forget what newlyweds were expected to do. 

They had spent the last few days talking, laughing, reminiscing and learning more about each other’s interests. There was nothing in their behaviour or interactions, really, to indicate that they were now husband and wife, other than the fact that they were no longer being chaperoned -  and Edward was trying his hardest to convince himself that they were still just friends. 

He had no idea how much longer he would be able to put off the inevitable. At least, he hoped wildly, he might be able to delay it until they were back in London, not confined with only each other for company. Perhaps he would have the chance to make love with Alfred again, and again, and again, he thought with another rush of desire, fortifying himself with love and strength before he had to do his duty with Florence. 

A man could dream, couldn’t he?

 

When Florence reappeared with her cloak around her, he automatically held out his arm for her, as he had been taught a gentleman must always do for a lady. She grinned at him a little shyly as they walked down to the lake. 

“Ever the gallant gentleman, Edward,” she said. “Just as you were back then.”

He smiled back at her, thankful she could not read his mind, wishing they could simply remain friends forever.

 

They continued talking together as the sun set over the lake, enthusing about the sights they had seen during the day. 

As darkness started to fall, though, Edward could feel their conversation beginning to take on a somewhat awkward, forced edge. He could see Florence was starting to shiver a little in the cool night air, and he knew that as her husband he should be offering to share his coat with her, wrapping his arms around her, even. But he thought back to Alfred gently wrapping his coat around the two of them, back in France so many months ago, and how peaceful and safe he had felt, even though Alfred had not yet told him in as many words that he loved him. That was something he and Alfred shared, something that felt too intimate to share with Florence. 

 

He wondered if she had noticed his awkward reluctance to share his coat or put his arms around her, for their conversation became gradually more stilted as they walked back, and by the time they were back inside she had gone silent, as though deep in thought. 

She disappeared to put her cloak away without a word to him, and Edward poured himself a glass of port before sitting down in the velvet armchair and picking up his book from where he’d left it on the table. It seemed as though they were done spending time together for the evening. 

 

But when Florence came back in and sat quietly in the chair opposite him, he raised his eyes to her face, and realised that he had been misreading something. There was hesitation written across her face, and she was twisting her hands nervously together in her lap. Clearly, there was something she wanted to say, but she did not know how to say it. 

Edward felt an uneasy twinge in his stomach. Whatever it was she wanted to tell him, he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear it. But he could hardly just sit here in silence and pretend he did not notice, not when she looked so anxious. 

 

“Florence? What is it?” he asked tentatively. 

 

“It’s just….I....”

 

Her face was flushed bright red, and she was avoiding his eyes, staring at her hands in her lap.

 

“I’m not sure how to say this, Edward....”

 

“It’s alright, Florence. You can tell me.” He tried his best to smile at her reassuringly, despite the fact that his heart was pounding uncomfortably fast, and his palms were suddenly clammy. He had a horrible feeling he knew what she was about to say. 

 

She sighed. 

 

“I’ve been having a wonderful time these past few days, truly, Edward, I have.” 

 

“Me, too,” he interjected, trying to put her at ease. It wasn’t  _ entirely  _ a lie. 

She nodded.

 

“But it’s just....nothing seems to have changed much since we went to the Lake District together, with your mother as chaperone. But the thing is, we’re married now. And I don’t claim to know very much about marriage, but I do know that there are some....some things that are supposed to be different between a man and a woman, once they become husband and wife. Some things they are supposed to do….” 

 

Edward felt fear and nausea roiling in his stomach, and he tried his hardest not to flinch away from her. 

God, he had been trying so hard to keep her distracted, he had hoped that they would not have to have this conversation for a very long time, or preferably ever. 

But then, life did not always go the way you planned. He really should have learnt that by now. 

 

He swallowed. His face felt burning hot, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes. He stared at her hands, and noticed that they were trembling. He felt a tiny spark of hope - perhaps, if she too was afraid….

 

“Do...do you want to do....those things, Florence?” 

He was stumbling over his words, feeling more ridiculous and mortified by the second. God, he hated himself. 

 

There was a moment of silence. He chanced a brief glance at her face, which had turned an even deeper crimson. She seemed a little taken aback by the question.

 

“I...I think so?” she responded. “I can scarcely imagine what it is like. I am a little scared at the prospect, in truth, Edward. But I know that a woman needs to do….those things, with her husband, in order to make a baby. And I know that I want a baby, Edward. A baby of our very own. Don’t you?”

 

Edward didn’t really know how to respond to that. Truth be told, he had never given much thought to becoming a father - dwelling on the idea of the necessary intimacy with a woman had always made him feel vaguely uncomfortable and awkward, even before he had met Alfred. And now....it was ridiculous, but part of him wished that, if he had to start a family,  he could start one with Alfred. That was impossible, of course, and it was stupid of him to even dream of it.

 

But Florence was still waiting for his answer. 

 

“I...Florence, we don’t have to do anything yet,” he choked out. God, he hoped she couldn’t hear how reluctant, how desperate he sounded. “We have plenty of time ahead of us, and if you’re nervous....”

 

She looked at him for a moment, and shook her head. 

 

“I am nervous, Edward. I imagine all new brides are. But....I think I’d still be nervous, even if we waited months. Marriages are supposed to be consummated during the honeymoon, are they not?”

 

He nodded reluctantly, heart hammering against his chest, his face still burning. He was sure he was as crimson as Florence. 

 

“I think that tonight is as good a time for it as ever, Edward,” she pushed on. “It will be new to both of us, won’t it? So we can figure it out together.” She reached out and placed a hand tentatively over his. “I trust you.” 

 

He tried desperately not to flinch, feeling fear and guilt coiling in his stomach. Florence trusted him, and yet he was lying to her. Or at least, he hadn’t told her the whole truth.

It seemed that she was comforted by the idea that this kind of intimacy with another person was completely new to both of them. Of course, he had already experienced true, blissful intimacy with Alfred, he had made love, and he already knew that whatever he did with Florence would be a pale, weak imitation at best, an uncomfortable and humiliating nightmare at worst. But he could hardly confess to that. 

 

He struggled to find something to say. His voice didn’t seem to be working too well. 

 

“You mean….now?” he finally managed to croak out. 

 

Florence nodded. “If it is agreeable to you, Edward,” she responded shyly.

 

He swallowed. There seemed to be a fog of panic creeping over his brain as he stood up from the armchair shakily. 

 

“I’ll just go and...get ready, then,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “In my chamber.” 

 

Edward couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes. What if she had noticed his unease, and he saw pain, or worse, suspicion, there? 

 

“I will come to your chamber,” he managed to choke out, the words tasting like bile in his mouth. 

 

Before she could respond, he turned, practically running for the privacy of his room. 

 

***

 

Florence truly had been having a lovely time these past few days, exploring these beautiful medieval cities with Edward, talking and laughing with him and getting to know him again a little bit more each day. He really was a lovely companion, and she felt a thrill of triumph and relief every time she reminded herself that she would never again have to live under her father’s roof. 

 

The problem was, she still wasn’t sure she was in love with her husband. But God, she wanted to be. 

She felt that everything would be so much easier if she could get past this ridiculous mental block of hers. So what if her most vivid memories of him were as an awkward, gangly young boy? He had grown into a man, as tall, dark and handsome as any woman could possibly wish for, anyone could see that - in fact, she was almost certain that some of her friends had been whispering about her in envy. 

 

As the days of her honeymoon slid by, in a whirl of activities and friendly conversations, she had begun to wonder if there was something she should be doing that she wasn’t, something that would make her fall in love with Edward Drummond as she should, as surely any other woman would. 

Gradually, she had been coming to the realisation that Edward needed to bed her. That, surely, was the missing puzzle piece - after all, there must be a reason that it was called ‘making love.’ 

The thought of such physical intimacies with him terrified her a little. But that was only because it was so new and unfamiliar, she had tried to reassure herself. Perhaps Edward was nervous, too - wanting to take her to bed now that she was his wife, but unsure how to bring the subject up.

But they could hardly spend their entire marriage tiptoeing around it, both too afraid to say anything on the matter. After all, marital relations were what defined a marriage, weren’t they? And she didn’t know much, but she knew that such relations were what led to children. And she wanted to be a mother. 

And so, even though she had felt her face burning scarlet and her hands shaking, even though she  _ knew  _ it was unladylike to be so forward, she had finally worked up the courage to ask Edward about it. 

 

He had seemed to freeze for a moment before responding. She had taken that as a sign that he, too, was nervous - it had comforted her a little to think that she was not alone. The first thing he had done was to ask her if she truly wanted to, reminding her how kind and considerate her husband was, and causing another little twinge of guilt in her stomach that she did not yet love him as he deserved. 

She had tried to explain that she was nervous, but she still wanted to be intimate despite that. She wanted to truly become his wife, she wanted to have a child. It was the key to falling in love with him, she was sure of it - although she hadn’t voiced that part. 

 

She had expected him to smile in relief when she reassured him, perhaps to kiss her, even take her straight to the bedroom. He was sweet, kind Edward Drummond, but he was still a man, and she had been told how men often found it a struggle to repress their urges until after marriage. 

But no. He had stared at her, and there was something in his dark eyes which she could only describe as....fear. Breathing hard, seemingly struggling to keep his voice steady, he had choked out something about waiting, about them having plenty of time. But despite her nerves, she knew that she didn’t want to keep putting it off. She needed to face this, get over her fear so that she could love him properly. The longer they delayed it, the more difficult it would be. 

 

She had seen his hands shaking as he stood up. And then, muttering that he would prepare himself in his own room, he had turned and practically fled the room. As though he was trying to put as much distance between them as possible. 

Florence stood there, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling of rejection creeping through her. 

She had always been told that, for men, desiring intimacy with women was as natural as breathing. But it certainly didn’t seem that way for Edward - or perhaps it was only her that he did not desire.

She thought of the discomfort in Wilhemina’s eyes, the way she had avoided her gaze when they spoke about Edward before the wedding. She thought of the letter locked in her jewellery box, signed  _ ‘Yours, Alfred.’  _

Was there some secret being hidden from her? Or was it simply that Edward found other women more desirable than her?  Why did that idea hurt so much? 

 

She sighed, rubbing her palms against her eyes. She was being stupid again - why did she always have to torture herself with doubt when it came to Edward? It must be the nerves, she told herself. And as for the way Edward had responded to her just now - that was probably nothing more than nerves, as well. What they were about to share was something deeply meaningful and significant. Perhaps he was frightened of letting her down. 

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Florence stood up, taking the candle from the table in front of her so she could light her way to her bedchamber.

 

She would wait for him there. 

 

***

 

In his room, Edward had just managed to change into his nightshirt, when he realised that his breathing was gradually creeping towards hyperventilation. His breath was coming in choked, shallow gasps which seemed to echo around the room. He pressed his fist against his mouth, his body shaking, worried that Florence would be able to hear him. 

 

How could he do this? How could he betray Alfred like this? What if Alfred found out what they had done? 

_ Alfred is already aware that you have to do this, you idiot _ , he reminded himself harshly.  _ Why do you think he was in tears, at the wedding? _

That thought really did not help.

 

He cast about for something to distract himself, but the only thing he lands on is Florence. The thought of her trying to touch him where only Alfred touched him made him shudder. How would he keep from flinching away from her, from hurting her? She was going to look into his eyes and see how much he wanted to escape. 

God, why had he agreed to marry his childhood friend? Why hadn’t he really, truly considered how much suffering he was going to cause her? She deserved so much better than this. 

 

He closed his eyes, trying to focus on calming his breathing. After a few moments, feeling only fractionally calmer, he opened his eyes and looked at the clock. 

His heart immediately leapt into his throat again. He needed to get back to Florence, she would be wondering where he was by now.

Unstopping the bottle of port on his dresser with shaking hands, he poured himself a glass and threw it back. Then another one, for courage. Another one, for luck. 

After his third drink, he forced himself to put the glass down, letting out a choked sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. God, what had become of him?

He wasn’t ready. But then, he supposed he never would be. And it didn’t matter, anyway; he was out of time.    
  


 

When he came to Florence’s door, he paused and knocked tentatively, quietly, half hoping she had forgotten their conversation, or fallen asleep. 

 

“Come in, Edward,” came her voice from the other side. He took a deep breath, fighting the urge to slip away and let her think she had imagined the knock, before turning the handle. 

 

She was sitting up slightly, wearing only her nightgown, her butterscotch hair unbound and spread out across the pillows behind her. She smiled at him nervously, and he did his best to smile back without meeting her eyes. He couldn’t let her see his fear. 

 

Slowly, he forced himself to walk to the bed, lifting the covers and climbing in beside her. 

She turned to face him, reaching out tentatively to take his hand in hers. He fought against his instinct to pull away, recoil. It just felt so  _ wrong _ , her body so close to his. He felt like he needed to shield himself. 

 

“Hello,” she whispered.

 

He swallowed. “Hello,” he choked out in return. 

 

For a moment she simply traced her hazel eyes over his face. Then, she leaned in, pressing her lips against his hesitantly. 

 

He closed his eyes quickly. It wasn’t to revel in the feeling. He was trying to shut out the sight of her so that he could desperately try to imagine it was not Florence, but Alfred next to him in the bed. He focused his entire mind on conjuring up the taste of Alfred’s tongue, the scent of his soft, flawless skin, the feeling of Alfred’s warm hands gliding over his body.

He felt a sharp pang of longing for his beautiful lover, mingled with hot shame and guilt, as he reluctantly wrapped his arms around his wife. 

 

***

 

Afterwards, he lay there, staring up at the ceiling. Next to him, Florence was facing the other direction. They did not exchange any words. She was breathing in a steady rhythm, so carefully and deliberately that he could tell she wanted him to think she was asleep.  

 

It had been worse than he could have imagined, feeling her tense up in his arms, catching sight of the fear and discomfort in her eyes despite his best efforts to be gentle. His vivid memories of having Alfred in his arms were the only thing that had allowed him to stay vigorous, but now he was left lying here with this sickening shame in his stomach, feeling like he had sullied not just his relationship with Florence, but with Alfred, too. How would he face him now, how would he make love to him without remembering this night?

 

Edward didn’t think he had ever hated himself more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, so sorry for all the angst! I had to because plot!
> 
> It might be a little while before I manage to post Chapter 15, as I currently have a deluge of uni work, and I also need to spend a bit of time recharging the future plot lines. We'll likely be going up to at least 30 chapters!
> 
> But, if it makes you feel better, I promise we'll be checking back in on Alf next chapter, and it will definitely be a somewhat happier chapter than this one - and, finally, some of the new characters who have been waiting in the wings will be making their first entrance. I can't wait to introduce them to you!
> 
> So see you all in Chapter 15, and apologies in advance if there is a bit of a wait. Thank you so much to everyone who has been blessing me with their fic updates while I have been raging about not having enough time to write mine - you are all incredible!!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos make my day and motivate me to keep pushing this story along! This is my first ever multi-chapter, so the support I've been getting really does mean the world! <3 <3 xxx


	15. Helping Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Edward is away on his honeymoon, Alfred looks for comfort back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this has taken me so long, everybody - everything has been absolutely crazy over the past couple of weeks!
> 
> This is the chapter where some of the promised new characters start arriving on the scene - and buckle in, it's a long one! I promise it's a bit happier than the last one as well!
> 
> Thanks to Lucky Moony for providing me with the French translations :D xxx
> 
> Enjoy!

Alfred stared out over the cliff edge, watching the waves crashing against the shore, the wind sweeping through his hair as he breathed in the familiar, tangy scent of the sea. The scent of his childhood. 

 

He was glad - or at least, as glad as he could be in the circumstances - that he had thought to come back home, to Plas Newydd, to his wonderful parents. 

He didn’t think he could have lingered at court a moment longer. Miss Coke had done her best to comfort and distract him, playing card games and piano and going horse riding with him, and even trying to subtly persuade Victoria to reduce some of his official duties. Alfred was certainly grateful to her for that. 

But despite her best efforts, he couldn’t help feeling claustrophobic in the palace, surrounded by other people who had attended Edward’s wedding to that woman, gushing about the elegance of the ceremony and reception, and the beauty of the bride. Other men, such as Prince Ernest, had clapped him on the back, asking jovially if he was going to follow his friend’s example and catch himself a pretty bride. Alfred liked to think he had spent enough years as a courtier now that he could force a smile whenever someone asked him such things, never letting them realise that their words felt like an iron-fisted punch to the gut. 

He wondered that nobody except Harriet and Wilhemina seemed to have noticed his bloodshot eyes at the wedding, the way he had most uncharacteristically retreated silently into the corner. 

But then, he supposed everyone had been focusing on Edward and his beautiful, blushing bride. 

 

He swallowed hard, once again fighting down the bitter nausea, accompanied by the fierce twisting pain in his chest. He breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with the cool, sharp scent of the sea. He had come back to his childhood home to try to forget, to distract himself - but he still couldn’t manage to get the images out of his head. 

That woman, smiling into Edward’s beautiful dark eyes, kissing his soft lips, curling up against him in bed…

Edward didn’t love Florence, he loved him, at least he knew that. But sometimes that seemed like small comfort, certain as he was that Florence loved  _ him _ , probably desired him as desperately as Alfred did. How could she not? His hands curled into fists as he pictured her gliding her hands over Edward’s soft, warm skin, and he fought the urge to retch. 

As if those thoughts weren’t bad enough, Alfred kept remembering what Edward had said about her.  _ ‘I care for her deeply...I want to be her friend, Alfred… _ ’

Part of his brain chided him for being ridiculous, torturing himself when Edward kept trying to reassure him. But another part kept nagging at him, quiet but continuous: if he already cares for her so deeply, enjoys her company so much, then what’s to stop him falling in love with her, eventually, even if he doesn’t love her now? What was it Edward saw in her, that caused him to  _ care for her deeply _ ? 

Alfred sighed, trying to push the thoughts aside, feeling furious with himself and a little guilty. Edward had  _ told  _ him how much he loved him, wasn’t that enough? He needed to stop torturing himself, he knew that. But that would be a lot easier to do if Edward was by his side. 

 

Apart from anything else, apart from the fear, the doubt, and the all-consuming jealousy, Alfred just missed him hugely. His laugh, his curls falling loose across his forehead, that fiercely determined look in his dark eyes, that smile that was like the sun coming out. The warm, reassuring brush of his arm. He wished he could hear Edward raving passionately about everything he had seen in Italy, all the history he had discovered. He wished he could join him there, exploring around the fascinating museums and galleries, marvelling at artworks that rivalled those in the Queen’s collection. 

 

But he had not even had a letter from Edward since he had left. He tried not to let this sting him too much, knowing that it was probably for exactly the same reason he himself had not dared to write: Edward was constantly with Florence at the moment. They simply could not afford to let Florence become suspicious about letters going back and forth between them. 

He had not forgotten about the letter which had gone missing from Edward’s coat pocket, either. There was no use agonising over the letter’s whereabouts now - but the incident had certainly taught him to be more careful about the letters he sent to the man he loved. 

 

He swallowed, staring out to the horizon. He just needed to see Edward. 

 

“Alfred, sweetheart?”

 

He turned to see a petite middle-aged blonde woman, her beautiful face full of kindness and concern, walking somewhat cautiously towards him. She wrapped her arm around his waist when she reached him, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, trying to force a smile to his face. 

 

“You know you don’t have to do that here, Alfred,” Charlotte Paget said quietly. “You don’t have to smile if you don’t feel like it.” 

 

He sighed and nodded. He didn’t know why he had even tried to fool his mother; no matter how many years he spent as a courtier learning how to dissemble, both she and his father Henry would always be able to see right through him. He just thanked God that he had been blessed with parents whose love for him had proved to be completely unconditional, who accepted and protected him despite knowing about his preferences for men, knowing in fact that he had fallen hopelessly in love with a particular man who was now married. 

 

This was why he’d sought the refuge of his childhood home. He had been craving a sanctuary where, for once, he didn’t have to pretend - he could be completely himself. 

Unlike Edward, he knew he was lucky enough to have parents that he could trust completely. He had poured his heart out to them, explaining everything, knowing that they would keep the secret safe on his behalf.

 

For a few moments, Alfred and his mother stood together in a comfortable silence, staring out towards the horizon together. 

 

“You’ve been standing out here by yourself for a long time now,” Charlotte commented. 

 

Alfred shrugged. 

 

“Just trying to clear my head, Mama. You know I like feeling the wind in my hair up here.” 

 

“Hmm,” Charlotte responded, a little absentmindedly. There was another moment’s pause before she spoke again, sounding hesitant this time. 

 

“Alfred, sweetheart, I know you’re hurting, and you know I wish I could take the pain away. But your father and I have been thinking - perhaps it’s time you returned to Buckingham Palace. Her Majesty will be missing you.” 

 

He looked at her, startled and a little hurt. “You want me to go back to London? Why?” His gaze scanned her face. “Have I been making a nuisance of myself, Mama?”

 

“No, of course you haven’t,” she responded, rolling her eyes at him a little. “You know we always have time for you.”

 

“Then why....?”

 

Charlotte sighed.

 

“You’ve been wallowing in your pain, sweetheart. I understand that it hurts, and that you needed to take the time and space to let yourself feel it properly. But you can’t carry on like this until he comes back to England. You need to get on, distract yourself with other things as best you can - otherwise you will only feel worse.” 

 

He felt his chest beginning to tense up with anxiety at the thought of returning to court and trying to pretend that he was fine, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Charlotte cut across him. 

 

“And what’s more, we don’t want people at court beginning to wonder why you are spending so much time away. You have duties to fulfill for Her Majesty, Alfred, you cannot just abandon them. As far as anyone knows, you just wanted to visit home briefly. It would look odd if you were to stay with us until he arrived back in London, Alfred - you know that.” 

 

He swallowed. His mother was right, as usual. He had already been at Plas Newydd for weeks, people would be beginning to wonder where he was. But still, he didn’t know if he could face going back yet. Other than Edward of course, he felt that his family were the only ones he could ever truly let his guard down with. At the Palace it was his job to be the perfect courtier, making sure things went smoothly for Her Majesty, being never-endingly witty and charming. He was always performing. He could never allow himself to be too vulnerable. 

 

“Mama....” he started, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Mama, I don’t think...I don’t want to be alone there.” 

Charlotte looked up at him, her eyes full of love and understanding, and squeezed his hand gently. 

 

“We imagined you might feel that way, sweetheart,” she said quietly. “Luckily, though, your father and I have managed to find someone willing to accompany you back to London.” 

 

Alfred tilted his head, frowning slightly in confusion.

 

“Who?”

 

Charlotte gave him the trademark mischievous Paget grin. “Well, why don’t you come and see for yourself? He’s in the library with your father, he’s waiting to see you. That’s why I came out here to find you.”

 

She gestured with her head towards the house and Alfred sighed, falling into step beside her with his arm still around her shoulders. 

 

“You know, Mama, you could just  _ tell  _ me,” he muttered, rolling his eyes a little. 

 

“Ah, but where would be the fun in that? The surprise would be ruined,” Charlotte said playfully, pulling him along. 

There was excitement written all across her face, and she seemed absolutely convinced that her surprise visitor would cheer Alfred up. 

 

Alfred appreciated her efforts, truly he did, but he could not think of very many people who knew him well enough to comfort him at court while he waited desperately for Edward’s return to London

As soon as they entered the library, though, he immediately realised that he had underestimated his parents. They knew  _ exactly  _ how to lift his spirits. 

 

His father Henry was sitting in the armchair facing the door, the prosthetic leg he had been given to replace his own after Waterloo stretched out in front of him.

And standing in front of Henry, his back to the door, his familiar Paget golden hair shining in the sunlight as he chatted animatedly to their father - 

 

“George!” 

 

George Paget turned around and grinned broadly at his younger brother, who immediately grinned back despite himself. Alfred couldn’t help it, it had been so long since he had seen his favourite brother.

 

“Oh, so you’ve finally deigned to come and see me, have you, Plumpy?” George asked in a tone of great indignation. Alfred rolled his eyes. After so long, it was comforting, in a nostalgic way, to be called by the ridiculous childhood pet name that George had coined for him - not that he would ever admit that.

 

Still grinning, he strode forwards, and his older brother immediately swept him up in a bear hug. 

 

“What are you even doing here, George?” Alfred asked a little breathlessly. “Aren’t you supposed to be stationed with the Army in Russia?” 

 

George shrugged. “I was getting too damned cold.” 

 

Alfred raised an eyebrow and George laughed. 

 

“No, but seriously, Plumpy, I had some leave owed. I wrote to Mama and Papa to tell them I was coming to visit, and they told me you were here. They asked me if I wouldn’t mind taking a little trip to London before I have to go back to my station. Seemed to think you might appreciate the company.” 

 

His tone was teasing and boisterous, as usual, and he was still grinning - but Alfred could see the concern in his brother’s eyes. 

 

Alfred felt tears beginning to sting the corners of his own eyes again, as he wondered how much his parents had told George. Of course he knew his brother loved him, but usually there was only mischief or sarcastic amusement written across his face - he wasn’t used to seeing George look so worried about him. 

 

He nodded slowly.  “Yes,” he said quietly, struggling to keep his voice from shaking. “I would appreciate the company.”

 

George looked at him. He seemed to hesitate, searching for the right words. 

 

“Things haven’t been easy for you recently, have they, Plumpy?” 

 

Alfred shook his head, and let out a sound that was half sob, half bitter laugh. “You could say that.” 

 

George nodded, reaching out to grasp his shoulder, as Henry simultaneously grasped his other shoulder, and Charlotte put a reassuring hand on his arm. 

 

Alfred gave a shaky laugh, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by this show of support from his family. 

 

“No, really, I’m alright” - 

 

George sighed. “You’re a terrible liar, Plumpy.” He smiled slightly as Alfred looked at him indignantly. 

 

“You’re not alright. But you will be.”

 

Alfred looked at his brother, reluctant to believe his hopeful words. “I will?”

 

“Certainly, if I have anything to say about it!”, George responded, suddenly back to his usual playful tones. He swept into a salute. “Captain Paget, reporting for duty. Operation: Cheer Plumpy.” 

 

Alfred rolled his eyes, although he could not help but grin at his brother’s ridiculousness. 

 

“Now,” George clapped his hands together, his tone businesslike. “We will eventually have to face our fears at Buckingham Palace, where we shall be forced to contend with the most tedious of creatures: the courtier.” 

 

“I  _ beg  _ your pardon!” Alfred responded in mock indignation and horror. 

 

“You heard me.” 

 

“But before we set off,” George said, speaking louder as Alfred opened his mouth to try and answer back, “I believe we have some catching up to do, dear brother. And you need to take your mind off things. So, what do you say we have an elegant and sophisticated dinner with our dear Mama and Papa here - followed, perhaps, by something a bit less formal? I’d like to introduce you to some of my finest friends, port and whiskey.”

 

His mother sighed audibly, and out of the corner of his eye Alfred saw his father rolling his eyes heavenward. He grinned. 

 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

  
  


***

 

“Honestly, George, I’m amazed anyone ever let you be in a position of authority,” Alfred gasped out through his laughter. 

 

“What?”, George said innocently. “I lost the bet, and so I followed through with what I’d promised I’d do. That’s the honourable, dignified thing to do, is it not?”

 

“You followed through...by singing on the tabletop,” Alfred responded.

 

“Yes. And I stand by it.” 

 

Alfred doubled over in laughter again, noticing vaguely as he did so that the room didn’t seem to be very steady. 

 

“But anyway, I think that’s quite enough about me,” George said, grinning. “What’s the use of having a brother at court if he never tells me any of the gossip? How’s Harriet? Still panting over Prince Albert’s brother?” 

 

“George!” Alfred chided, slurring his words a little. “I am Harriet’s most loyal and discreet friend, and a chivalrous gentleman to boot. I will hold my tongue, and take her secrets to the grave with me.” 

 

George raised one eyebrow, and Alfred grinned.

 

“But yes, she does seem rather eager for His Highness Prince Ernest.” George snorted. “But you know she has to officially finish her mourning period for her late husband before either of them can act on their feelings - although I think everyone knows that there was never any great love in that marriage. I know I shouldn’t say it, but Sutherland never deserved her. Then again, I suppose no man truly deserves Harriet,” he said with a fond smile.

 

George rolled his eyes. 

 

“Yes, Plumpy, your friends are wonderful and you adore them, I know,” he said. “But what about the people who are newer to court, the ones I haven’t met yet? Is the old Duchess of Buccleuch really as cantankerous as you said in your letters?”

 

“God, yes,” Alfred sniggered. “She is a ludicrous old battleaxe, but I must own it does entertain me on occasion.” He began to imitate her in a croaky grumble.  _ “A novel?! What is this world coming to? We would never have read novels in  _ my  _ day, Your Majesty! It’s COCK-a-leekie, ma’am...give the coxcomb good chew!” _

 

George was sniggering. “You are very drunk, you know that, Plumpy?”

 

“Her niece is a different kettle of fish, though,” he continued, as though George hadn’t spoken.

 

“Plumpy, I realise you’re not the world’s expert on women, but I don’t believe they generally enjoy being referred to as ‘kettles of fish’.”

 

“Miss Coke is quiet, and kind, and altogether a bit too timid and sweet for court life, I think,” Alfred mused. “The poor thing fancied herself in love with Prince Ernest when she first arrived at court, although the rest of us knew she was wasting her time as, understandably, he is just as smitten with Harriet as she with him. Miss Coke really doesn’t seem to be very skilled at choosing men to admire - I believe there was a time when she fancied herself in love with  _ me _ !” 

 

“Poor girl, what a waste of her time and energy!” George sniggered. “From what I hear, you were a little too distracted to notice her…”

 

At these words, Alfred felt his breath catch in his throat all of a sudden. His eyes began to sting as images of Edward flooded back into his mind. Edward smiling at him. Edward kissing him. Edward getting married. Edward in  _ her  _ arms…

His face crumpled.

 

“Oh god, George, I love him so much,” he whimpered. 

 

His breath was starting to come in heaving sobs. 

 

“I miss him, I miss him all the time, and I had to watch him get  _ married _ , George, and he says he loves me, but now he’s with  _ her  _ in Italy and she’s probably running her hands all over him and, and…”

 

“Oh no, Plumpy....”

 

George crouched down in front of him and sighed. 

“You’re supposed to be taking your mind off him. This is Operation  _ Cheer  _ Plumpy, remember?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Alfred choked out through tears. “I’m trying.”

 

Standing up, George took Alfred’s glass out of his hands, refilled it, and handed it back to him.

 

“You are going to drink that,” George declared, “and then another one, and then one more. And then, we are going to take off our boots, and we will race across these halls in our socks.”

 

Alfred stared at him. “Like we used to when we were children?”

 

“Exactly like that.”

 

“But George,” he said, starting to laugh a little through his tears, “I am a twenty-six-year-old courtier to Her Majesty. And you are a thirty-year-old army captain.”

 

George rolled his eyes. “So what? One is never too old or too dignified for sock sliding, Plumpy.” 

 

Alfred stared at him for a moment, pondering the idea. Then he stood up unsteadily. “You know what, George?” he said, with an emphatic gesture that caused him to lose his grip on the glass he was holding. George swiftly caught it and placed it down on the table. 

“I think you make an excellent point.” 

 

George grinned. “That’s the spirit!”

 

Rapidly taking off his shoes, Alfred declared “Slowest has to pay Mama and Papa back for the smashed vases! AND have dinner with Mama’s ex-husband!” And he took off, laughing gleefully.

 

“What?  _ Wellesley _ ?” George asked in disgust. “I’m not having dinner with - wait, Plumpy, you’re cheating! Come back!” 

 

***

 

The next day found both men trundling along a stony path, in a carriage bound for London. As they uncomfortably jostled and bumped along, Alfred sat wincing, clutching at his head and screwing up his eyes against the bright sunlight outside. 

 

In hindsight, he was beginning to think that letting George pour him so many drinks had been an exceedingly bad idea. The most frustrating thing was that George had drunk just as much, if not more, but he did not seem to be suffering any ill effects - in fact, it seemed to Alfred that he had not stopped chattering brightly for the past hour. 

 

“I mean honestly, Plumpy, I can’t believe you broke  _ three  _ of Mama and Papa’s vases. I must say, it’s lucky I’m taking you back to London, because I think they might have murdered you if you stayed at Plas Newydd any longer.”

 

“I told you,  _ you  _ broke those vases,” Alfred grumbled quietly. 

 

“Oh come on, Plumpy, as if you can actually remember anything that happened last night.” 

 

Alfred glared at his brother, and George laughed. 

 

“Anyway, I won, fair and square, so even if it  _ was  _ me that broke them, it will be you paying to replace them,” George crowed gleefully. “And I suppose you’ll also have to write a letter to Wellesley at some point, requesting the pleasure of his company for dinner.” 

 

Alfred groaned. It was easy to see why his mother had been so desperate to escape from her first husband - he was insufferably convinced of his own brilliance and authority, and tedious to boot. 

 

“That was your idea, not mine,” George reminded him. 

 

“George,” Alfred said loudly, finally succeeding in cutting him off. “Could you  _ please  _ be quiet, for once in your life? I feel nauseous, I have a splitting headache - which is your fault - and I am  _ trying  _ to steel myself for arriving back at court. I’m scared, and I’m trying to relax - your blathering on and on is not helping, alright?” 

 

George looked at him, his amusement suddenly vanished. 

 

“Are you really? Scared, I mean?” All of a sudden, his tone had completely changed; it was low and concerned now. 

 

Alfred nodded. “Terrified,” he answered shortly. 

 

There was a pause as Alfred clenched his jaw and George studied his face. 

 

“What is it you’re terrified of, Plumpy?” he asked. 

 

Alfred sighed as he met his brother’s gaze. 

 

“I’m terrified of all the questions, all the judgements, people asking me where I went and why I was away so long,” he said quietly. “I’m terrified that people will know immediately how devastated I’ve been. Some of them might even have noticed the way I was at Edward’s  _ wedding” -  _ he spat out the word - “I wasn’t exactly hiding it very well. And I’m terrified of having to go back to a life where I am lying and dissembling all the time, never letting my guard down, trying to make sure that nobody truly sees me.”

 

George nodded, digesting this. 

 

“I understand it’s hard, Plumpy,” he said tentatively.  “But this is why I’m coming with you; to make sure you’re not alone. To make sure there’s somebody else there that you can trust, for a little while at least.” 

 

“But that’s not the only thing,” Alfred whispered. He was almost ashamed to admit, even to George, how scared he was about his future, how unsure. “I went to Plas Newydd because I needed to run away, to escape for a while. But I think, once I return to court, I will have no choice but to face reality again. I will be back to my duties, trying to pretend that everything is as it always has been - and in a few weeks, he’ll be back in London, with his pretty new  _ wife  _ in tow. I expect Her Majesty will be inviting them to the Palace...”

 

Alfred felt like there was a weight pressing down on his chest and lungs at the thought of that woman flaunting _ his _ Edward on her arm, gazing up at him in adoration, acknowledged by everyone as his companion and love. He felt like he was struggling to breathe. 

Concern written across his face again, George reached out to grasp Alfred’s shoulder.  

 

Alfred swallowed. 

 

“He promised not to abandon me, George. But we did not speak of what we are going to do, how we are going to cope, once he is back from honeymoon and he and his wife have…”

 

He trailed off. He couldn’t bear to say the words out loud. 

 

“I don’t know how often I’ll be able to see him now. I don’t even know if we’ll be able to meet in private anymore. I can hardly sneak him into the Palace very easily, and I suppose I won’t be able to go to his house now. He won’t be living alone any more,” he finished bitterly. 

 

Alfred lapsed into silence, and George looked at him for a few moments. 

 

“I’m sorry, Plumpy,” he said. “What can I do to help?”

 

Alfred laughed hollowly. “Well, if you could undo his wedding, or somehow make me even a tiny bit less in love with him, it might hurt less,” he responded. “But unfortunately I don’t believe that you’re capable of rewinding time, and I  _ certainly  _ don’t think you or anyone else in this world could ever stop me from being in love with him, so…”

 

“No, that’s clear,” George sighed. Alfred stared glumly out of the window, impatiently dashing a tear away. George sat back, deep in thought. After a few moments of silence, he gasped and sat up. 

 

“Plumpy, maybe there  _ is  _ a way I can help! I can’t believe I only just thought of it!” 

Alfred raised an eyebrow, puzzled. 

 

“You know I’m always away on army duty, this must be the first time in about two years that I’m even managing to make it to London, let alone visit the court. But I have a house in London. I bought it years ago. It’s just been sitting there unused over the past few years - I’ve been thinking about selling it, but I never got around to it. It’s quite near Buckingham Palace, and it’s private. I can only stay in London for a few days before I have to head back to my posting, so I will hardly get much use out of it. But you’re more than welcome to it, Plumpy. You and your...Mr Drummond.” 

 

Alfred stared at his brother, hardly daring to believe his ears. He had forgotten about George’s London house, so little did he use it. Of course, George’s offer hardly resolved everything - he was still going to be in pain until Edward came back, and Edward was still coming back with a wife. But it certainly solved the problem of where he and Edward were going to go, it gave them a place away from prying eyes, a sanctuary. That was immensely valuable in itself. 

 

“George...you’re a genius,” he breathed. George shrugged, attempting to appear casual and suave as usual - but as a small smile began to creep over his own face, Alfred could see the relief written across his brother’s. 

 

“I think I’m getting wiser with age,” George replied. 

 

“Honestly, I...I don’t know what to say,” Alfred murmured. 

 

George grinned. “You could always say that I am the best brother to have ever graced the Earth. Of course, I already know that - but it’s nice to hear it every once in a while.” 

 

Alfred did not laugh. 

“George, have you thought about what you’re offering? Truly?” he asked quietly. “Edward and I, we’re risking everything, all the time - even our lives. We don’t have much of a choice - or at least I don’t. I can’t sever ties with him, I can’t tell him not to love me and I can’t leave him alone - I tried that once, and it nearly killed me. Sometimes I wish I could be stronger, because I’m  _ furious  _ at myself all over again every time I think about how much danger I’m putting him in. He puts himself in that position though; he refuses to leave me.”

 

Underneath the guilt and the fear, Alfred felt that familiar, momentary glow of warmth in his chest. What  _ had  _ he ever done to deserve Edward Drummond?

 

“But you...you don’t have to get involved. The more you try to help us, the more dangerous it will be for you. If someone was to discover that you were involved...you could be punished too, George. You know that?”

 

George just looked at him for a moment. 

 

“You know what? If it helps with Operation ‘Cheer Plumpy’, then it’s worth it. Besides, you’re talking to a soldier, remember? What’s life without a little risk?”

 

Alfred stared at him incredulously. “You were right,” he said. “You really are the best brother.” 

 

George grinned again.

 

“Happy to help. Now, chin up, Plumpy - we’re going to see Her Majesty the Queen!” 

 

***

 

They were shown into the throne room with great ceremony when they arrived. Alfred appreciated the warm welcome he received from Victoria - it seemed she had genuinely missed him - but still he was thankful for George’s reassuring presence at his side. Already, he was beginning to feel claustrophobic, as though the walls were closing in on him. Without even consciously deciding to, he had immediately straightened up, tensing his shoulders and putting on his courtier’s smile, his mask. God, he hated this masquerade, this feeling of constantly performing a scripted part while the people around him performed their own. That was one of the reasons he had been so drawn to Edward in the first place, he remembered - he had been so intrigued by that utter lack of artifice. 

 

“Lord Alfred, I am so pleased to have you back with us,” Victoria declared warmly. “I must confess we missed your wit and charm, didn’t we, Albert, darling? I trust you found your trip to Plas Newydd refreshing?”

 

“Very refreshing, thank you, ma’am,” he responded smoothly. “Although of course,” he continued, hating himself a little, “I am most relieved and delighted to be back.” 

 

“And how wonderful that you have brought your charming brother Lord George to visit!”

 

George bowed low over Victoria’s outstretched hand, brushing his lips against it. “The honour is all mine, ma’am.” 

 

Alfred’s older brother had always had a certain effect on women, and Alfred could see that the Queen of England was no exception. She was blushing slightly as George bent over her hand - a fact which had not gone unnoticed by Prince Albert, judging by the fact that he looked even more brooding than usual. As George straightened up again, he turned his face slightly towards Alfred, shooting him a tiny, almost imperceptible wink. Smiling slightly, Alfred barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes at his brother. 

 

Prince Albert cleared his throat, and Victoria shook herself slightly. 

 

“Yes, well...as I said, it really is lovely to have you back with us, Lord Alfred. You were gone so long, I was beginning to wonder if you had decided you preferred the countryside, and were not coming back!”

 

Alfred gave his polite courtier’s laugh, a little uneasy about how close she was to the mark. 

 

“In fact, we have some newcomers to court, who still have not had the pleasure of meeting you because you were gone away for so long! Of course, they have heard a great deal about the legendary Lord Alfred Paget - from Miss Coke more than anyone else, I should think!”

 

As Miss Coke blushed scarlet at her words, Alfred gave another polite laugh even as he groaned internally. He was really not in the mood to socialise with more tedious people who seemed exactly the same as every other courtier who had ever been at the palace. But he supposed he didn’t have much choice.

 

“Allow me to introduce you. This charming man is Sir John Stanhope,” Victoria said, beckoning forwards a tall, dark-haired and serious-looking young man, who Alfred estimated to be only a few years older than himself, perhaps George’s age. 

 

“Sir John has only just arrived back in London,” she continued, as the man held out his hand to Alfred and Alfred took it. “He has just finished serving in Paris as the British ambassador.”

 

_ "Ah...J'ai entendu dire, Monsieur, que sa majesté le roi Louis-Philippe ne vit pas des moments très agréables en ce moment?",  _ Alfred asked.  (“I have heard, sir, that His Majesty King Louis-Philippe is not having the easiest time of things at the moment?”) 

Rumours had been starting to reach London of the revolutionary fervour that was once more on the rise in the streets of Paris. Crowds were beginning to take up the cries of the students who had been defeated in the June Rebellion of 1832, calling once again for a republic - but it appeared that Louis-Philippe was deaf to these warning signs. 

 

Sir John Stanhope gave a short bark of sardonic laughter. Alfred got the sense that here, at least, was a man who would always say what he meant - he reminded him a little of Sir Robert Peel. 

_"Je vais vous dire franchement, Lord Alfred, que Londres est beaucoup plus agréable en ce moment. Je suis bien heureux d'être de retour en Angleterre,"_  Sir John declared. (“I will say this, Lord Alfred - it is certainly a good deal more peaceful in London. I am glad to be back in England”). 

_ "Sans aucuns doutes,"  _ Alfred responded, smiling. (“I should imagine so”). 

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Miss Coke was looking at Sir John as though she could not tear her gaze away, her face a little flushed. He grinned to himself. He supposed Stanhope was quite handsome, though nowadays, of course, it was difficult for him to appreciate or even notice any other man when he compared them with Edward. Still, he was happy to see that Miss Coke appeared to have given up on  _ him _ . 

 

“And may I present the beautiful Lady Cecilia Wyndham, of Cromer Hall in Norfolk?”

 

Alfred tried not to sigh, plastering a smile to his face as Sir John stepped back to allow Lady Cecilia through. An unmarried woman, new to court, an heiress by the sounds of it. 

This Lady Cecilia was likely at court searching for a husband - and he himself was widely regarded as one of the most eligible bachelors in London. Of course most people had no idea that he was in love with Edward, and he intended to keep it that way - but it was tedious having women constantly batting their eyelashes at him, showering him with insincere compliments and throwing numerous hints into conversation. 

 

He braced himself for this simpering as Lady Cecilia came towards him. With her alabaster skin, dark red hair and startlingly green eyes, she was undeniably beautiful, even he could see that - although, from the look on George’s face, it seemed his brother was a great deal more interested in that than he was. 

 

But it was not Lady Cecilia’s beauty which took Alfred by surprise. There was something that seemed somehow familiar in her green eyes, some spark of mischief. Alfred was fairly certain that he had never met this woman before in his life - but, for some reason, he felt as though he had known her for years. He felt almost as if he was reuniting with a half-forgotten childhood friend, or a long-lost sister. 

 

“Lord Alfred,” Lady Cecilia said, grinning at him as though the two of them were sharing some secret from the others. “The man, the myth, the legend. So nice of you to join us at last. I look forward to hearing about your adventures while you were away from court.”

 

“I shouldn’t pay too much heed to what Miss Coke says of me, Lady Cecilia,” he responded, grinning back at her. “She is far too kind. In truth, I am rather dull, spending my time away from court brooding and staring out across the sea. Just ask my brother here.”

 

“It’s true,” George piped up. “Alfred really is rather tedious.” 

 

Alfred rolled his eyes as Cecilia laughed. He was about to ask her what brought her to court - to his surprise, he genuinely felt curious, rather than being simply courteous - but he was interrupted by Victoria standing up and holding out her arm for him to take. 

 

“I fear we are all starting to get rather hungry, Lord Alfred. Perhaps if you gave us the honour of your company at dinner, and you and your charming brother could regale us with your tales over refreshments?” She held out her other arm for George to take, and he grinned at Alfred across her. 

 

“It would be our pleasure, ma’am,” Alfred answered smoothly. Putting on his best courtier smile, he led the queen into the dining room. 

  
  


To his disappointment, he was not seated near George at dinner, and nor was he seated near the curious Lady Cecilia. Both Victoria and Albert were seated between him and George, and, after satisfying herself that Alfred had enjoyed himself at Plas Newydd and that his parents were well, Victoria devoted herself to George, listening with rapt attention to his tales of his daring army exploits - half of which Alfred was fairly certain George had made up purely for the purpose of dazzling women. 

Meanwhile, Alfred was forced to turn his attention to the questions of the other courtiers around him, who were asking him what he had gotten up to at Plas Newydd, why he had felt the need for a break from London, if he had been detained there longer than he’d expected. 

There was not much he could tell them without explaining his heartbreak, and so, when they got tired of his brief, non-committal and vague answers, they began to gossip about other recent news. Edward’s wedding, for instance. 

 

His stomach twisting with the familiar pain and jealousy, his hands curling involuntarily into fists in his lap, Alfred clenched his jaw and stared around the table, desperately trying to tune the conversation out. George appeared to have caught snatches of what they were talking about - although he was still chatting animatedly to Victoria, Alfred could feel his brother’s concerned gaze on him.

Looking around, he realised that George was not the only one. Lady Cecilia, too, was looking at him, her head tilted slightly to the side, curiosity written across her face. 

 

He was immensely relieved to leave the dining room for the parlour, where they gathered for post-dinner entertainments. There was still a large crowd - traditionally, men and women separated to different rooms after dinner, but Victoria had never been much of a one for tradition - but Alfred was thankful to break away from the people who had been gushing about Edward’s wedding. 

 

While most of the party gathered around to play whist, Alfred took the opportunity to break away, accepting a glass of port from a passing butler, and standing in the corner nursing it. 

He would join everyone soon, he told himself, he would charm the queen as usual. He just needed a minute. 

 

“Lord Alfred?”

 

He looked up from his glass to see Lady Cecilia Wyndham approaching him hesitantly. He smiled at her. He had wanted to be alone for a few moments, but for some reason, he found that he did not mind having her company. 

 

“Lady Cecilia,” he said. “My apologies, you must find me terribly rude, standing here in the corner by myself! I am afraid I am finding the return to court a little loud and overwhelming, after I had gotten so used to the peace and quiet of my family home - and I fear the journey back to London has exhausted me a little. Please, forgive my bad manners - I am normally better behaved than this, I promise.” 

 

“Please, there is no need to apologise, Lord Alfred,” Cecilia responded, a little awkwardly. “I only wanted to talk to you because...well...I have heard much about you, your wit and your charm, your ability to make everyone laugh and ease the tension in any room, your wonderful stories, and...I was looking forward to meeting you.”

 

Alfred laughed a little bitterly. “I am sorry if I have disappointed you.”

 

“But that’s just the thing,” she said. Alfred cocked his head a little, staring at her in slight bewilderment. 

 

“I...I could not help but notice, how melancholy you seemed at dinner tonight. I hope you’ll forgive me, I do not mean to offend you, but you did not seem to be trying to make people laugh, which I hear is your forte. You looked almost like you wanted to escape from the room, and again when you came in here. And though your brother is entertaining Her Majesty, I can see that he still has his eyes on you, as he did throughout dinner. He looks very worried about you. 

Forgive me, I know that we’ve just met, and it’s not my place. But I hope you don’t mind my asking if you are quite yourself tonight, Lord Alfred?”

 

Alfred stared at her, laughing a little in shock. He didn’t think he had ever in his life met anyone quite so perceptive, or quite so open and forward. He was impressed and intrigued - it did not even occur to him to lie to her. 

 

“You are right, Lady Cecilia,” he answered quietly. “I have not been myself recently, I must confess.” 

 

She nodded slightly. “May I...may I ask you what is wrong? You don’t have to tell me,” she said hastily. 

 

Alfred paused, tracing his eyes over her face for a moment. It was insane, but he found that, for some reason, he already trusted her. He wanted to tell her the truth - or at least part of it.

 

He sighed. 

“My brother George has come to court with me because he wants to look after me. Because he knows that I am in love - and in pain. The person I love has just married, you see.” 

 

There was a moment of ringing silence, as Cecilia looked at him, compassion in her green eyes. Alfred still couldn’t quite believe he was telling her this. 

 

“I’m so sorry. I can understand how you feel,” she said, breaking the silence after what seemed an age. “I’ve often thought myself to be infatuated - but my feelings are almost never returned.” 

 

She swallowed, and Alfred stared at her, a little bewildered. He was honoured that she seemed to trust him enough to speak like this, even though she had misunderstood what he had said. Truth be told, though, he was somewhat puzzled by her confession. She was a rich heiress, she was clearly intelligent, witty, and kind, and even he could see that she was objectively beautiful. He couldn’t see any reason why a man would reject her, unless she had only ever fallen in love with men like him and Edward. But that hardly seemed likely. He decided not to press the issue. 

 

“I am sorry to hear that,” he said gently. “I’m afraid you misunderstand me, though. The person I am in love with  _ does  _ love me in return. It’s just that...they are not free to be with me.” 

He felt the familiar lump closing up his throat, the hot tears beginning to sting his eyes. 

 

Cecilia reached out to him, grasping his arm gently. 

 

“Come, Lord Alfred,” she said quietly. “One must not cry at a party.” She held out a handkerchief to him, and he took it gratefully, dabbing at his eyes. 

 

“I wonder, would you care to show me around the gallery?” Cecilia asked. “I have heard that Her Majesty has one of the most marvellous artwork collections in all of Europe.” 

 

He nodded, smiling at her as he wiped his tears away. He held his arm out for her.

 

“Is it really true that you have  _ six _ brothers, Lord Alfred?” she asked. 

 

He grinned. “It is, unfortunately.”

 

“And are they  _ all  _ like George?”

Alfred laughed. 

 

It was agony, thinking of Edward so far away from him, sharing a bed with his wife. 

 

But at this moment, with Lady Cecilia Wyndham on his arm, feeling George’s concerned eyes on him, Alfred knew how lucky he was, to have people who were so willing to offer him a helping hand. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I apologise in advance, I have another insane few weeks coming up, so it might be a little while before I manage to put Chapter 16 up - but never fear, it is on its way!
> 
> As usual, thank you to everyone who gives comments and kudos - you make me so excited to write this <3 <3 xxx


	16. Endings and New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward is having a very difficult time on his honeymoon when he receives a letter containing a great deal of news.
> 
> Meanwhile, Alfred is awaiting his return rather eagerly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for the huge wait between chapters - the last few weeks have been utterly insane for me!!
> 
> I promise I will do my best to update more regularly than THAT in the future!
> 
> Anyway, Chapter 16 is dedicated to the beautiful Leo Suter, even though he will probably never read it - because it is his birthday, because this is a pretty Drums-heavy chapter, and because I adore him. 
> 
> And now, enjoy the chapter!

Edward moved his knight across the board, cursing to himself a moment later as he realised he’d just made himself completely open to an attack from Florence’s bishop. He really should have known better than to make such a foolish blunder when playing against Florence by this point - but then, he supposed he could not honestly say that his mind was truly on the game.

 

He waited for Florence to notice his mistake and leap on her advantage gleefully as she had done before. To his surprise, she simply stared down at the board silently for a moment, before pushing her chair back and standing up. 

 

“I’m sorry, Edward, I am finding that I have a bit of a headache,” she murmured quietly. “I think perhaps I should go and rest for a little while. Do you mind if we finish this game later?” 

She was not meeting his eyes, Edward noticed.

 

“Of...of course,” he responded hesitantly, feeling a prickling sense of shame sweeping over him again. “Go and rest, Florence. I hope you feel better soon.”

 

She nodded silently, still avoiding his eyes, and disappeared into their room, shutting the door with a firm click behind her. 

 

Edward sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as he sank back in his chair. It would appear that he was not the only one whose mind wasn’t on the chess game. 

 

He needed to get out of the house for a little while, he decided. He needed to put a bit more distance between himself and Florence. 

He stood up, hurriedly pulling on his coat and hat before stepping out the front door, closing it gently behind him and setting off, crunching over the gravel in the direction of the lake. 

 

He was not a complete idiot, he thought as he walked. He knew full well that things had shifted and changed between the two of them since the night they had consummated their marriage. They had done the deed multiple times since then, Edward conjuring up vivid images of Alfred in his mind and trying his best to forget that it was actually Florence’s body pressing against his own, somehow managing to loathe himself a little more each time. 

 

He could not simply stop, as much as he longed to. Florence wanted a child, and he knew that it was his duty as her husband to give her one. But he had desperately hoped, despite the nightmare he was suffering through in their bed at night, that the two of them would still manage to remain friends, talking and laughing with each other during the day. 

 

It had quickly become evident, though, that he had been utterly foolish and naive to hope for this. Of course he should have known, he chided himself, that things could not be so simple as that. 

Before they had consummated the marriage, it had been easy enough to convince himself that he and Florence were old friends and nothing more, reuniting and getting to know each other after so many years of distance. He had even found himself somewhat comforted to know that they were able to rekindle their friendship. 

 

But now that he had been with her in bed as her husband, now that he had been forced to touch her like that...he couldn’t say  _ what  _ they were to each other anymore. 

Obviously, he could not bear to think of himself as Florence’s lover - he did not want to be  _ anyone’s  _ lover unless their name was Alfred Paget.

He and Alfred made love, and it was Alfred’s warm body curled around his in bed which made him feel safe and warm, which made him feel like he was  _ home _ . What he did with Florence was worlds away - it could scarcely be referred to as ‘making love’, he reflected miserably, when the mere thought of it made his chest seem to seize up in panic, when he felt his skin crawling with shame and self-loathing every time he pressed his body against hers. 

 

But it seemed clear that they could no longer be truly friends, either. He felt sure that Florence had noticed his hesitation, the fear in his eyes - wasn’t Alfred always telling him that he couldn’t properly dissemble to save his own life? And what was more, even though he had been trying his utmost to be gentle, he could have sworn he had seen fear and pain in Florence’s eyes as well, although she had tried to hide it from him. 

He hadn’t even been entirely sure what he was doing the first time he had bedded Alfred, who he loved and desired more than he would once have thought possible - how,  _ how _ , was he supposed to know what to do with Florence?! Alfred had promised that they would guide each other, that they would learn together, but he did not feel that he and Florence could make such reassuring promises to each other. They were not on the same page, he could never truly lay himself bare for her as he did for Alfred. 

Now that he and Florence had shared a bed as husband and wife, their marriage was truly, irrevocably binding in the eyes of the law. 

But he had to bear the burden of knowing that it was a marriage based on lies. 

They might both try to pretend that nothing had changed between them, but he knew, and he felt sure that Florence did too, that it was too late to go back to the way things were. He didn’t even know how to talk to her about it - how could he ever explain how much he dreaded sleeping with her? It wasn’t as if he could tell her that he’d already fallen passionately in love with someone else, and a man, at that. He knew that anything he might say would only hurt her more. 

 

Barely aware of where his feet were carrying him, Edward came to a little bridge over the lake, and stood there, gazing at the horizon, watching the sun set over the water. The memory of Alfred’s voice echoed in his head.  _ These midsummer evenings are so enchanting, don’t you think?  _

He sighed and closed his eyes, memories of that magical first kiss in Scotland flooding his mind. He needed Alfred so badly, he needed to hold him in his arms, to breathe in his scent and whisper apologies into his golden hair. He missed him so much it hurt. Every time he held Florence in his arms, he closed his eyes and tried his hardest to pretend that he was holding Alfred - but he knew that his imaginings and memories were no more than a pale imitation, and could never do Alfred justice. 

What was more, he felt like he was betraying Alfred anew every single time he thought of him while he was pressed against his wife. But what else could he do? How else could he fulfil his marital duties, other than imagining he was in bed with the man he loved? 

 

He sighed, watching the last dying rays of the sun. He still had not any word from Alfred since his wedding day. Unbidden, memories of Alfred’s face the last time he had seen him rose to his mind, forcing a brave smile, his blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. He couldn’t stand it, he couldn’t stand to think of the pain he was putting Alfred through. He yearned to comfort him, though he knew he should not risk sending him any letters until he was back in London. He could not stop himself from wondering, though, what Alfred was doing, how he was coping. With a sharp pang, he thought how much easier the other man’s life would be if he were to simply turn away from Edward, leave him to his married life, and find somebody else to love, somebody who was free to give him everything that he deserved. He would never understand what he had done to deserve Alfred Paget. All he could do was thank his lucky stars that Alfred, for whatever reason, had decided that he loved him enough to wait for him. 

As the sun sank, he wondered if Alfred was looking up at the sky as well, thinking back to that day by the lake in Scotland. 

Whatever he was doing, Edward hoped to God that there was somebody taking care of him. 

 

As darkness fell, Edward began to shiver. Lost in thought, he had barely even noticed how long he had been gone, and he started, suddenly realising that Florence was likely sitting up waiting for him. Hurriedly, he started back towards the house, wrapping his coat more closely around himself, feeling another pang as he remembered Alfred gently wrapping his own coat around both of them,  murmuring  _ “We’ll share.”  _

 

There was no sign of Florence in the living room or the lounge when he got back to the villa. Figuring that she was sitting up waiting for him in bed, he tiptoed hesitantly towards the bedroom door that she had disappeared through earlier, an apology for his vanishing ready on his lips, his stomach already twisting in terror at the thought of climbing under the covers with her and repeating the ordeal of the previous few nights. 

He knocked tentatively and, hearing no response, opened the door as quietly as he could. 

 

He felt his body relax, relief coursing through him. Florence was fast asleep, or at least doing a very good impression of it. It seemed, tonight at least, he was to be spared. 

 

He closed the door quietly again, and turned back towards the living room, picking up a book from the bookshelf on his way. 

He would settle in with his book for a few hours, he decided, before going to sleep out here. He didn’t mind sleeping on the sofa for the night. It was a rare gift, the chance to be alone. 

 

* * *

 

Sitting at the breakfast table with Florence the next morning, though, Edward was beginning to feel the effects of a night spent on the sofa. 

 

It had certainly been preferable to spending the night having marital relations with Florence, thought Edward, but he also could not pretend that it had been the best night’s sleep he had ever had. He was a little too tall and broad to fit properly, and he had spent most of the night tossing and turning, somewhere between asleep and awake, craving the familiar warmth of Alfred’s body curled around his. 

 

As a result, he was sitting at the breakfast table, already feeling somewhat exhausted and irritable even though the day had only just begun. He sighed internally - it did not bode well that it was barely 9am, and he was already struggling to keep a civil tone when he spoke to Florence. It did nothing to lessen his guilt, either - she had done absolutely nothing to provoke his bad mood. 

 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Edward?”, she asked him quietly, her eyes roving over his face.

 

“I’m fine, Florence,” he responded shortly.                        

 

There was a tense silence for a few moments, as Edward fixed his gaze on his plate, and Florence hesitated, seemingly wondering if he would snap at her if she spoke again. 

 

“A letter arrived for you early this morning, Edward,” she said eventually, picking up an envelope from the table next to her and holding it out to him tentatively. 

Immediately, before rational thought could kick in, Edward’s heart leapt into his throat. Surely, Alfred hadn’t changed his mind about writing? Was his wife really holding out to him a letter from his lover?

 

He practically snatched the letter out of her hand, partially out of a desperate desire to read Alfred’s words, and partially out of an instinctive urge to get the letter as far from Florence’s gaze as possible. She stared at him, somewhat bewildered at his haste.

 

As he turned the envelope over, Edward felt his heart sink slightly. He would know Alfred’s handwriting anywhere, and this was not it. 

He sighed internally as he opened the letter, chiding himself for getting his hopes up so foolishly. Obviously, Alfred wouldn’t have thrown caution to the winds so suddenly. Apparently, he was just getting so desperate to hear from his lover that he was becoming utterly ridiculous. Shaking his head a little, he began to read.

 

_ Drummond, _

 

_ I hope this letter finds you well, and enjoying your honeymoon with your charming new wife.  _

_ I am sorry to dampen what must be a most joyous time, but there are two pieces of news from London which I feel I must give you.  _

 

_ This first piece of news is one that I am hesitant to pass on to you, as I know it is likely to bring up some rather traumatic memories; it certainly does for me. However, I feel it is important you be made aware, so that you can properly set your mind to rest on the matter, moving on towards the rest of your life and leaving this dark chapter behind you. _

 

_ Daniel M'Naghten, the man who shot and wounded you on the night of the Corn Law Repeal, has now been tried, and a verdict handed down by the court. This verdict was truly remarkable - M’Naghten has been found criminally insane by the court. It has been decided that, as a madman, he cannot be held fully responsible for his actions; and so, despite the fact that he almost ended your life, he is not to be hanged, nor even kept inside Newgate prison. Instead, he is to be transferred to Bethlem mental asylum for the foreseeable future.  _

 

_ I must confess that I was taken aback by this verdict, as I’m sure you will be too, and I own that I am not entirely convinced that the court has made the right decision.  _

_ However, I know that, even though M’Naghten almost succeeded in taking your life from you, your kind heart and merciful nature was causing you to dread the idea of any man dying on your account. I feel sure that, regardless of how much or how little M’Naghten deserves it, you at least will be thankful that he is to be spared the gallows.  _

_ For my part, I confess that it still chills me to the bone thinking of how close a brush with death you had, and I cannot begin to describe how it overwhelms and humbles me, when I think that I myself might be in my grave now, were it not for you pushing me aside and jumping in front of that bullet. I do not think I will ever be able to fully explain to you how grateful I am.  _

 

_ You may say that I am turning into a sentimental fool in my old age, and perhaps I am,  but I truly believe, Drummond, that I will forever be in your debt for what you did that night. The bond between us was already strong, I feel, and it became all the more powerful when you saved my life.  _

 

_ It is for this reason that I am truly sorry to have to tell you this second piece of news.  _

_ As you know, it was an enormous struggle for me to get the other Tories onboard for the repeal of the Corn Laws a few months ago - indeed, you will remember how astounded we both were when the Repeal passed. _

_ I should have realised back then that my luck would run out sooner or later. Of course you have been kept immensely busy, what with recovering from your injury, followed swiftly by your wedding and now of course your honeymoon, so most likely you would not have realised this - but the rest of the Tory party have been circling me like sharks scenting blood ever since the Repeal. They believe that I am a traitor to my own party, and they are not willing to allow me any more victories. The Whigs soon sensed weakness in our internal dissent, and, to make a long story short, I have now resigned as Prime Minister.  _

_ You will find out soon enough that the Whigs are back in power, with Sir John Russell at their head. I wanted to be the first to tell you this.  _

 

_ I understand that my resignation puts you in a difficult position, Drummond, and I am truly sorry for it. Your passion, intelligence, integrity, work ethic and, above all, your support, have been immensely valuable to me. I regret that you will no longer be my Private Secretary, but you are still one of the most talented, promising and remarkable young men I have ever had the privilege to meet. I thank God that your life was spared that terrible night, for I know that you have an incredibly bright and successful future ahead.  _

_ Any man would be lucky to have you working for him. I wished to make up for leaving you in the lurch so abruptly, and so I have been singing your praises to every single influential politician I know.  _

_ I have managed to arrange an interview for you when you get back to London, with Henry Temple, Lord Palmerston - Sir John Russell’s new Foreign Secretary. Palmerston is undeniably a little eccentric and outspoken - but I believe that the two of you will get on rather well. Like yourself, he loathes dissembling and values honesty and integrity above all - and I am sure that you will be excited to discuss his passionate views on social reforms.  I would wish you luck for your interview, but I truly don’t believe you will need it. A few moments’ conversation with you, and I’m sure Palmerston will want to snap you up before anyone else makes you an offer.  _

 

_ I suppose, dear boy, that there is nothing much left for me to say, apart from more sentimental twaddle about how much I will miss you. I hope that, even though we are no longer working together, you will keep writing and will stay in touch - for I am not ashamed to admit that I have come to think of you almost as a son. I look forward to hearing about your adventures and your triumphs  - I believe that there is nothing you could do that would not make me proud.  _

 

_ Thank you for everything, from the bottom of my heart, _

_ Robert Peel _

  
  


Reaching the end of the letter, Edward continued staring down at it, feeling somewhat emotionally overwhelmed. It was a lot to take in. 

 

“Edward?” Florence asked tentatively. “Who is it from?” 

 

“From Sir Robert, I…”

 

He trailed off, his mind whirring, and then stood up abruptly. 

 

“My apologies, Florence, but it is rather a full letter, and I find that I need to think on it a little further so that I can properly process everything. I am going to take a little time to myself in the study, I shan’t be too long.”

 

She seemed a little taken aback, but covered it up quickly. 

“Of course, Edward. Whatever you need.”

 

Edward nodded absentmindedly, already hurrying towards the little room which was his haven from Florence, shutting the door quickly behind him. 

He placed the letter in front of him on the desk, scanning through it, trying to wrap his mind around everything he had just read. 

 

_ M’Naghten has been found criminally insane...He is not to be hanged...He is to be transferred to Bethlem mental asylum.  _

Staring at those words, Edward felt a slight shiver as he remembered the small, weedy dark-haired man who had been lurking at the back of the crowd outside Parliament. He recalled that crawling prickle of unease at the back of his neck, the sense that he was being watched, before turning around to find himself looking down the barrel of a gun. 

It was strange to think that weedy little man could so easily have been the last thing he had ever seen. The man had almost succeeded in robbing him of his life; he might never have seen Alfred again or heard him say ‘I love you’, in fact he might never have seen or heard  _ anything  _ ever again. 

Perhaps he was supposed to feel some kind of hatred towards M’Naghten, perhaps he was expected to wish death upon the man who had tried to take his own life. He remembered the uncharacteristic cold mercilessness in Alfred’s eyes when he had said quietly that there was no punishment too harsh for such a man. 

But somehow, he could not bring himself to feel the same way. He did not know if M’Naghten was truly insane, and if the rumours were to be believed, many might say that being confined to an asylum like Bethlem was a fate  _ worse  _ than death. But Sir Robert was right - it felt like an enormous burden had been lifted off his shoulders, knowing now that no man was to go to the gallows on his account. He could not pretend that his life was peaceful or simple - but at least he would be able to live it without feeling there was another man’s blood on his hands. 

 

Trying to calm his breathing and settle his mind, Edward went back to scanning the letter. 

 

_ “I have now resigned as Prime Minister...I understand that my resignation puts you in a difficult position, and I am truly sorry for it.”  _

He sighed, running his hands agitatedly through his hair as he began to pace. Of course his life had been somewhat chaotic recently, but he should have known that, sooner or later, the rest of the Tories would turn on Sir Robert. It seemed profoundly ungrateful to him, after everything Sir Robert had done, but he supposed he should not have expected anything else. Sir Robert had warned him many times what a savage business politics could be. 

 

Truly, he was going to miss his mentor, and he was somewhat taken aback by Sir Robert’s obvious pride and gratitude, and how much he was moved by it. He had always felt a close connection with the man, closer than he felt with his own father - the instinct to protect him that night had been extraordinarily powerful. Although Sir Robert  _ was  _ putting him in a somewhat difficult position by resigning, Edward knew that it had not been his choice, and he did not bear him any resentment for it. He would forever be grateful for everything Sir Robert had done for him, and he would be more than happy to keep in touch with him as he had asked. 

 

The fact remained, though, that he was out of a job, for now at least. It was a peculiar feeling, and it gave him a quivering feeling of anxiety in his stomach. Alfred had turned his world and everything he knew upside down, of course, but he had never really felt uncertain in his career before. He had never imagined that he would leave London as Private Secretary to the Prime Minister, and come back with no certain job at all. 

He did not know very much of this Lord Palmerston, but it was at least reassuring to know that Sir Robert had organised a job interview that he could go to as soon as he arrived back in London - and he was very touched that Sir Robert had declared such faith in him.

 

He sat down, running his hands through his hair anxiously. He didn’t know what the future held. It was overwhelming. His head spinning, he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think of something that might soothe him.

The answer came to him instantly. He needed to see Alfred, hold him in his arms, as soon as possible. He would be back in London soon, and he didn’t want to wait a moment longer than necessary. 

 

But how to get a letter to him, without Florence suspecting, or worse, seeing it? He had been so careful ever since they had left…

He put his face in his hands, thinking hard. 

He would need to write a return letter to Sir Robert anyway, he realised, thanking him for everything. Perhaps that was the answer - he would tell Florence that he had written a response to Sir Robert, and he would post it himself. As long as he kept the letters in his coat until he was out of her sight, she need never know that there were two of them. 

 

Feeling a sharp twinge of guilt that he tried to shake off, Edward took out some note paper from the drawer, and dipped a quill in the inkwell. 

 

* * *

  
  


His cheeks still flushed from the cold, bracing air outside, Alfred began striding up the palace corridor towards his room. 

Having just said farewell to Lady Cecilia - who, as it turned out, was a most accomplished horsewoman - he needed to change out of his riding clothes quickly, so that he could attend a meeting with the Queen. 

 

“Excuse me - Lord Alfred?” 

 

He spun around to face the pageboy Brodie, who was looking somewhat hesitant and timid, as usual. 

 

“What is it, Brodie? I am somewhat pressed for time…”

 

“I beg your pardon, Lord Alfred, but a letter has arrived for you.” 

 

Immediately, Alfred felt his heart do a backflip in his chest, as he looked down and recognised Edward’s handwriting on the envelope Brodie was proffering. His face split into an unintentional grin, and he felt lighter than he had in weeks as he struggled not to reach out and unceremoniously grab the letter out of Brodie’s hands. 

With a great effort, he held his hand out politely. 

 

“Thank you, Brodie,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. 

 

Brodie handed him the letter, bowed and turned away, as Alfred tried his best to open it calmly despite his hands shaking with excitement. 

 

_ Lord Alfred, _

 

_ I shall be back in London by around 4pm on Friday, August 24th. By the time you receive this note, I expect that date will be a mere two or three days away.   _

_ I find that I have somewhat urgent matters regarding Sir Robert Peel and Her Majesty to discuss with you. Please let me know the time and place that will be suitable for you, and send the message through to my butler. He will ensure the information gets through to me.  _

_ I will see you soon. _

 

_ Your good friend, _

_ Drummond.  _

 

Despite the formal address Edward was forced to use, Alfred felt like he was soaring.  _ Finally,  _ Edward was returning - he would be home in a mere matter of days! 

It was somewhat of a shame, he thought, that George had already left London - he would have liked to have introduced the man he loved to his favourite brother. On the other hand, George’s absence meant that the house he had offered them was completely free…

 

Warmth curling in his stomach, and his lips already tingling with desire, Alfred hurried upstairs to write a response, with all thought of his meeting with Victoria fled from his mind. 

* * *

 

As soon as the carriage pulled up outside their London home, Edward practically leapt out. 

The long ride home, pressed up against Florence in a tiny carriage, had been somewhat excruciating considering the current awkwardness between them, and he was certainly eager to put some distance between them. 

But there was also another reason he was frantic to get inside the house - if he was not much mistaken, his butler, Gerson, would be waiting for him with Alfred’s response to his letter! With any luck, he would be back in the arms of the man he loved before this time tomorrow, and he could scarcely breathe with the anticipation. 

 

He struggled to keep his face neutral as he held out his hand to help Florence climb out of the carriage. She shook her head in bewilderment at the energetic way he had leapt out of the carriage - it was clear she was utterly exhausted by the journey. 

 

As soon as they got indoors, she took off her shawl and bonnet and handed them to her maid who had come to greet them. 

 

“Forgive me, Edward, but I really am rather exhausted,” she said quietly. “I think I shall have a hot bath and go to bed. I am sorry to be a bore.” 

 

“Sleep well,” he replied. He was only half-listening; his butler was hovering behind her as though waiting for her to leave before speaking. 

She stretched up to kiss his cheek, before trudging wearily up the stairs.

 

Edward barely waited for her to be out of earshot before turning to Gerson. 

 

“What is it, Gerson?”, he asked, barely able to contain his excitement. 

 

“A note for you, Mr Drummond, sir. I was specifically told to wait until I could give it to you in person.” 

 

Recognising Alfred’s handwriting, Edward barely restrained himself from snatching it. He opened it with trembling hands. 

 

The note was very short. Alfred had written down an address Edward had never seen before, followed by a few lines. 

 

_ Drummond, _

_ Meet me here at 7:30, the same day you return. I have taken the evening off to go through the urgent paperwork that you mentioned. I trust you will not be too exhausted. I shall see you soon.  _

 

_ Your friend, _

_ Lord Alfred.  _

 

“Will that be all for now, sir?” Gerson asked. 

 

“Hmm? Oh, yes...thank you, Gerson,” Edward responded, unable to wipe the grin off his face. 

 

No, Alfred, he thought to himself. I am certainly not too exhausted. 

 

* * *

  
  
  


Alfred stepped back from George’s dining table, proudly surveying his handiwork.

 

He had spent the last few hours preparing a basket of gifts for Edward’s return. Inside were an array of oysters and a bottle of champagne, to remind Edward of their impromptu picnic in France. He had also managed to track down a book on politics which Edward had been gushing about and desperate to read for months, and, remembering how much Edward had enjoyed the dark chocolate he had once been served at the palace, Alfred had even gone down to the kitchens to beg some of it from Francatelli. Finally, he had tied the basket up with a burgundy ribbon to match Edward’s coat, and placed the basket on the table as a centrepiece. 

 

Now, there was nothing left to do but wait. Alfred stood there, his heart pounding with a combination of excitement and nerves. God, what if Edward’s affections had changed after spending so much time with  _ her _ ? What if he was coming here to tell Alfred he wanted to end this? 

He shook his head, desperately trying to silence the small but terrified voice in his mind. Mercifully, he was distracted by a knock on the door. 

 

He ran to it, flinging it open. Edward was standing there, huddled in his coat to protect himself from the pouring rain. 

He looked down at Alfred with a smile that was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, ducked under the doorframe, and immediately pulled Alfred into his arm, sighing happily into his hair. 

 

“My Alfred,” he murmured. 

 

Alfred melted into his embrace, feeling every bit of the tension, anxiety and pain that he had been carrying with him over the past weeks seem to vanish on the spot. 

He would be quite happy to just stay standing here in Edward’s arms forever, he thought to himself, before remembering the basket.

 

“Oh! I made something for you!” he exclaimed, raising his head and pulling the man he loved eagerly over to the dining table behind them. 

Edward laughed. 

 

“Alfred, slow down! What -” 

 

Alfred picked up the basket from the table and held it out with a grin. Edward’s eyes widened. 

 

“For me?”

“No, Edward, for the Duchess of Buccleuch,” he teased. “Of course for you. Welcome home, my darling.” 

 

Edward simply stared at him for a moment. Then, he lifted the basket carefully out of Alfred’s hands and put it back down on the table.

 

“Edward, what -?”

 

Alfred’s words were cut off as Edward cupped his face, pressing his lips fiercely against Alfred’s. Grinning against his mouth, Alfred twined his arms around Edward’s neck. A moment later, he found himself lifted off his feet. Instinctively, he wound his legs around Edward’s waist as his lover’s hands grasped his backside firmly.

 

“You know,” Edward murmured against his lips, “I think that perhaps I  _ am  _ a little exhausted. Bedtime, I think.”

 

And with that, he began to climb up the stairs, Alfred giggling against his mouth all the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, Drums will start his new job, and Flo will get a surprise...
> 
> As always, comments and kudos give me life <3 <3


	17. Newcomers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward is finally back going back to work, and he has a new boss by the name of Lord Palmerston. There are new things to learn and new people to meet; but meanwhile, there seems to be something going on with Florence...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! I promised a small gap between Chapters 16 and 17, and...it really didn't turn out that small. I'm trying!
> 
> Also, apologies for the lack of Alf and Drums being cute together in this chapter; there will definitely be more scenes with the two of them in Chapter 18, though I can't promise they'll be drama-free...
> 
> Also, prepare to meet another OC of mine - let me know what you think of him so far!
> 
> Enjoy!

_ ONE MONTH LATER: SEPTEMBER 1846 _

 

Edward’s fingers were trembling slightly as he did up the buttons on his waistcoat, staring at his face in the mirror, a little paler than usual. He tried to take a deep breath to help himself focus - in his nervous and absent-minded state, he had already managed to button his waistcoat wrongly once. 

 

Today was to be his first day at his new job. Perhaps it was foolish to feel so nervous, he chided himself - he would still be working at the Houses of Parliament, it wasn’t as though the environment would be new and unfamiliar to him.

But still, he would no longer be working with Sir Robert, whom he had come to know, admire and care for so much over the past few years. Instead, his mentor was to be Henry Temple, Lord Palmerston. 

He had met up with Palmerston, as Sir Robert had arranged for him, only a few days after his wonderful reunion with Alfred. 

In fact, he had been with Alfred at the beautiful house which George Paget had so generously gifted to them on the day he had had his interview with Palmerston. Kissing all over his lover’s face, Edward had been somewhat reluctant to depart, until Alfred, laughing, had practically shunted him on his way, telling him to stop being ridiculous, and to go and show Palmerston how amazing he was. 

He hadn’t known how to tell Alfred how nervous he was to meet with Palmerston. His job with Sir Robert had been his first since leaving Oxford - what if Sir Robert had been guiding him far more than he had realised? Did he even know how to deal with politics without Sir Robert by his side? 

Of course, the interview had turned out to be fine, more than fine in fact; it seemed Alfred had been right in telling him he worried too much. 

Palmerston had certainly seemed rather eccentric and outspoken to Edward, who was used to Sir Robert’s pragmatism, solid good sense and down-to-earth nature, but it had been gratifying and humbling to see how excited the man was to meet him, having heard all about him from Sir Robert. 

“You’re the young man who jumped in front of a bullet to save Peel, aren’t you?” Palmerston had asked him, causing Edward to blush slightly and look down. 

He wished people would stop saying that like he was some kind of noble hero. Pushing Sir Robert away from that bullet had been nothing but instinct. Most people had a need to shield the people they loved, didn’t they? Perhaps his own need to protect had simply been heightened by that awful, lingering feeling of helplessness, standing outside the closed door of his little sister’s room at the age of nine. 

 

“Yes, sir, that was me,” he had muttered finally, still staring down at his lap. God, what if Palmerston thought he was some kind of arrogant braggart? 

 

Palmerston had given a slightly stunned chuckle, sounding both impressed and amused. 

 

“Just as humble and self-deprecating as Peel said, it would seem,” he’d exclaimed. “Well, Drummond, either you’re very brave, or extremely reckless, or both. But whichever one it is, it sounds to me like you and I will get along very nicely together. Peel told me that you would never in a million years get drawn into any of the petty backbiting that the politicians who are older and more experienced are so prone to. He said he’d scarcely ever met a young man with so many natural advantages to play to, yet so determined to stay true to his moral compass. We are of the same mind there, I think, Drummond - matters of conscience are not negotiable.”

 

At these words, Edward had felt his cheeks beginning to burn, and tears stinging his eyes as he avoided the older man’s gaze.

It was true that he had prided himself for staying true to his conscience, for many years. But no matter what Alfred said to comfort him, his deceit and his betrayal of Florence, who had done absolutely nothing to deserve it, gnawed away at him every single day. He knew he would never be strong enough to leave Alfred - but he hated the feeling of sitting there silently, knowing that Peel and Palmerston were wrong about him.

 

Palmerston had not seemed to notice his discomfort, luckily, but had begun enthusiastically expounding on all the social reforms he was determined to bring in. Edward knew that Palmerston had a reputation for being a man of the people, and as he ranted passionately about how worthy he considered the Chartists’ cause, and spoke somewhat irreverently about Her Majesty, Edward had found himself unable to stifle a grin, imagining the look of horror on his father-in-law’s face if he could hear what Palmerston was saying.

It was exciting to hear Palmerston speaking of his dedication to these reforms, to changing people's’ lives for the better. Edward had entered politics hoping to make a difference in the world, as Alfred had once put it, but people often chortled or coughed in polite amusement when he said it, clearly believing him foolish and naive. Of course Alfred had always supported him - but it was a relief, despite Palmerston’s reputation for eccentricity, to discover that he thought similarly, that he would never sneer at or subtly mock Edward for being young and idealistic. 

Of course, he would miss Sir Robert’s steady, dependable and fatherly presence, but Edward had quickly realised that working for Palmerston would be an honour, too. It had been a relief when Palmerston had jovially told him that the job of his junior assistant was his, if he wanted it. Edward had stumbled over his own words a little in his haste to thank him and his reassurances that he would not let him down, making the older man chuckle a little as he shook Edward’s hand.

 

Now, there was only an hour or so before Edward was due to meet Palmerston at the House. Only an hour before he would have to start making good on his promises. 

He sighed, trying to ignore the quivering feeling of nervousness in his chest. He pulled his coat on, glancing at himself briefly in the mirror again. He had already walked out of his room and was hurrying down the stairs when he realised that he had forgotten to put his cravat on. Muttering about his own foolishness, he backtracked, going back to the dressing table he had just left to pick his cravat up. It was not there. 

 

Beginning to panic slightly now about being late, Edward swore under his breath, searching for the cravat in vain. If only he was not such a mess of nerves, he thought, perhaps he would be able to think more clearly about where he had left it. 

Alfred was the calm one, the one who kept a clear head, the one who always had a knack for soothing him - but unfortunately, Alfred wasn’t there. It was not Alfred he lived with.

 

Sighing again, he went across the hall to the bedroom he and Florence shared, opening the door gently and leaning into the room. 

“Florence?” He winced slightly at the obvious hesitancy in his own voice. 

 

They were no longer confined with just each other since getting back to London, but, unable to stand the awkwardly polite distance which had been growing between them since the honeymoon, Edward had consciously been spending as little time at home as possible during the day, though he had continued struggling to fulfill his duties at least two nights each week. He knew she was too sharp to have missed this.

 

Florence was still lying in bed, though he saw immediately she was awake. She looked at him over the top of the book she was reading. 

 

“What is it, Edward?” she asked, clearly forcing a smile. “Shouldn’t you be going to the House by now? You wouldn’t want to be late for Lord Palmerston on your first day!”

 

He wondered if she was trying to shunt him out of the house faster so that she could feel more relaxed, and then wondered immediately if his stress was making him paranoid. 

 

“Yes, I was just about to leave,” he responded, “only I cannot seem to find my favourite cravat anywhere. I was just wondering if you knew where it might be?”

 

He wouldn’t have blamed her for returning peevishly to her book, telling him that she might look for it later. To his surprise, she softened, immediately getting out of bed and walking over to the dresser. 

“You left it in here the other day, you silly man,” she said, rolling her eyes at him slightly, a hint of amusement in her voice as she held it out to him. He found himself grinning a little as he took it, feeling the tight knot of nerves in his chest loosen slightly. Was it possible the ice between them was thawing? Was it insane of him to hope that he was seeing a spark of the old Florence again, his childhood friend who was unafraid to mock him when he deserved it?

 

“Thank you,” he said, tying it around his neck quickly. “ I’m not entirely sure why Palmerston asked for me, really. I’m a bit of an idiot. But then, you already knew that.”

 

Florence giggled, the first genuine laugh he had heard from her in over a month - and then, suddenly, she winced visibly, grimacing in pain. She reached out to clutch on to the dresser, seemingly needing to steady herself. 

 

“Florence?” Edward asked, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Just...just a very peculiar feeling. I felt a little faint for a moment there, I’m not quite sure…”

 

“Something you ate, perhaps?” Edward asked her worriedly.

 

“Perhaps. I don’t…”

 

“Shall I ring for a doctor?”

 

“No, Edward, you’re supposed to be meeting Lord Palmerston!” He blanched a little - the incident with Florence had almost made him forget. He would indeed be running late if he waited any longer. 

 

“I’m sure it’s nothing, Edward, I’m just being silly is all! Now go!”

 

“Are you sure…?”

 

“Go!” she urged him, beginning to physically push him towards the door.

 

“Very well, but will you promise to rest?” 

 

“Yes, Edward, I promise to rest!” she said, rolling her eyes at him again. “Now go and make Lord Palmerston proud!” 

 

“I’ll try,” he responded, his heart beginning to pound again. “Take care of yourself!” he called as he strode towards the front door. 

 

* * *

 

Edward’s heart was still in his throat when he reached Parliament, even though the corridors he was walking through were so familiar. It felt peculiar not to have Sir Robert strolling at his side, and he knew that many of the stern-faced old men staring at him curiously, whose eyes he tried to avoid, had been instrumental in forcing his old mentor out of office. They all knew, of course, of his own loyalty to Peel - he supposed nobody was likely to forget that incident from the night of the Repeal any time soon. 

From his perspective, it seemed that the men who had torn down Sir Robert, after everything he had done for them, were little better than ungrateful traitors, although he tried not to let this show on his face, nodding politely at them as he passed on his way to Palmerston’s office. 

 

Despite Florence’s concerns, he arrived at Palmerston’s door at almost precisely the time he had been asked to arrive. He took a deep breath, steadying himself and trying to calm his raging nerves, before knocking hesitantly. 

 

“Enter,” came Palmerston’s voice through the door. Edward obeyed hurriedly, and was gratified to see the older man’s face break into a grin as soon as he looked up and saw him. 

 

“Ah, Drummond, just the ticket!” Palmerston said jovially, coming forward to wring his hand enthusiastically. “No need to look so terrified, it’s only me here, and you’re already an old hand in this place, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Edward said hastily, inwardly cringing at how young he sounded.

 

Palmerston chuckled. “Come and sit down, Drummond, let me talk you through the agenda for the day.”

 

Edward nodded, doing as he was told quickly. 

As Palmerston began to speak rapidly and passionately about the reforms he was hoping to push through, Edward gradually felt himself relax. He even found that he was grinning to himself a little. Palmerston’s ideas and his manner were certainly unconventional, and he could see why many would call him eccentric - in fact, he had an inkling that someone such as Her Majesty might find his unapologetically outspoken ways nothing short of insufferable. He grinned wider at the thought of Alfred pretending to share the Queen’s indignation, while hiding a mischievous smile behind his hand. 

He himself found Palmerston refreshing and amusing, inspiring even, despite his complete lack of tact; it was not often that you saw somebody so utterly determined to speak his mind and follow his own conscience, completely unfazed by the stuffiness or shocked disapproval of others around him. 

 

“Now, you will of course be aware that we have had a new Prime Minister come into office since last you were here, Drummond - although I’m not sure how much you know of Sir John Russell…?” 

 

Edward was just opening his mouth to answer when there was another knock on the office door, and it opened before Palmerston could respond. 

 

Two men entered the office, one hanging back somewhat nervously behind the other. The man in front was portly, much more dignified-looking than Palmerston, with wisps of white hair and sideburns sticking out like a cloud around his face. He wore a somewhat disapproving expression, and had the aura of somebody who was perpetually harried and stressed. Edward recognised him immediately - he had seen him at the House many times before, although he had never had a proper conversation with him. 

 

“Ah, speak of the devil - Russell!” Palmerston exclaimed. 

 

“I was wondering if I might have a word with you before the session starts, Palmerston.” There was a touch of impatience in Sir John’s voice. “There are some papers detailing the present difficulties in Paris, I thought we ought to look over them together before we bring them to Her Majesty’s attention.” 

 

“Sounds an excellent idea - although I’m not sure the Queen will be particularly eager to listen to anything that encroaches on her little domestic world,” Palmerston chortled. Edward felt a frisson of awkwardness run around the room.

It was true that the Queen could be headstrong and stubbornly oblivious when it suited her. Edward remembered all too well Sir Robert’s frustration when she had insisted on having a ball to honour the silk weavers, refusing to consider how the poor and desperate of London might perceive such extravagance. Nevertheless, Edward didn’t think it particularly kind or gracious to speak of her in such a way; he knew how much Alfred admired and respected her, and although he didn’t know her nearly as well as Alfred did, he could see that she was doing her best, surrounded by men who were sceptical of her right to wield power. 

 

He cleared his throat a little awkwardly, and both Russell and the younger man behind him looked over at him. 

 

“Oh, I’ve just been catching my new assistant up to speed,” Palmerston explained. “You remember young Edward Drummond, I presume?”

 

“Peel’s secretary?”, Russell asked, eyeing Edward with interest. “The one who jumped in front of that bullet?”

 

“The very same,” Palmerston responded, as Edward ducked his head, feeling his face burning. 

 

Russell held out his hand to Edward, finally cracking a small smile. “Well, I must say, from everything I’ve heard, we’re very lucky to have you back with us, Drummond. Particularly after that terrible incident - that was an extraordinarily close shave you had there, my boy! You’ve certainly proved your worth, I should say - nothing short of heroic!”

 

Edward could feel himself turning an even deeper scarlet. How was he supposed to respond to something like that? 

“Thank you, sir,” he muttered. 

 

“I dare say your advice as former Private Secretary would be very helpful for young Grey here,” Russell continued, gesturing for the dark-haired, nervous-looking young man who had come in with him to come forwards. “This is James Grey, Drummond. He’s  _ my  _ new Private Secretary, only very recently arrived at the House.”

 

James Grey came forwards to shake Edward’s hand, smiling at him a little awkwardly. Edward smiled back, giving him a once-over. He was about the same height as Edward, though he seemed a little younger. He had raven hair and warm green eyes. There seemed to Edward to be an aura of kind sincerity about him. He looked extremely impressed by Russell’s account about the bullet, which made Edward feel a little uncomfortable. He really didn’t need people gazing at him in awe. 

 

“I’m sure Drummond will be able to show him the ropes, won’t you?” Palmerston said, a little distractedly. “Anyway, yes, I’ll come with you now, Russell, just let me gather my things…”

He bent down, rummaging through the papers on his desk for a few moments before straightening up again with a sheaf in his hands. 

“Drummond, I expect you to come and find me in about twenty minutes, alright?”

Edward nodded, still looking at James Grey.

“Good man,” said Palmerston, before heading out the door with Sir John, already conversing rapidly about Paris. 

 

Edward felt a somewhat awkward silence settling between him and Grey. He had always been introverted, never particularly good at one-to-one situations until Alfred came along to make him feel warm and safe.

For some reason, the fact that this man had taken the position which had until recently been his own, Private Secretary to the Prime Minister, was making him feel even more unsure of himself. 

 

“I have to say, it feels a little strange for me, being introduced to the Prime Minister’s Private Secretary,” Edward said, trying to smile at the other man as he broke the silence. Perhaps honesty was the best policy here. 

 

James Grey grinned sheepishly back at him. 

 

“I can imagine it must feel peculiar, shaking the hand of the man who has usurped your position,” he responded.

 

Edward felt himself flush again. “Oh, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” 

Grey laughed. “Don’t worry, Drummond, I wasn’t accusing you of rudeness or resentment!” 

 

“Well, that’s good,” Edward answered, relaxing his shoulders a little and offering another small smile. 

 

“To be quite honest, Drummond,” said Grey, rubbing the back of his neck a little awkwardly, “I have been a little nervous about meeting you, too. I mean, you’ve certainly given me a lot to live up to in this position. Is it really true that you jumped in front of a bullet meant for Sir Robert?”

 

It was Edward’s turn to grin sheepishly now. “Well, if it isn’t true, then I’d like to know where the scar came from,” he quipped. 

 

“That was extraordinarily brave,” Grey commented. 

 

Edward felt his face burning again. “Please, don’t,” he muttered, feeling like a fraud. “It all happened in a split second, I didn’t even know what I was doing. It was sheer instinct, really - anyone else would have done the same.” 

 

Grey looked at him curiously for a moment, and then nodded. 

 

“Then I will say no more about it.” 

 

Edward breathed a sigh of relief. “I appreciate it.” 

 

Grey chewed on his lip for a moment, apparently deep in thought, before speaking again. 

 

“Look, Drummond, I realise it feels strange for you, no longer working for Sir Robert, and me being here, taking over your old role. But I hope that does not mean we have to think of each other as rivals. You’ve been at Parliament for a while now, you know the ins and outs of this role, and I’m sure you know who I can trust around here and who I should be wary of. If it’s not too much to ask...I really would appreciate your advice.” 

 

Edward stared at him for a moment, gratified and a little touched. Then he grinned, holding out his hand to Grey more enthusiastically than before. 

 

“I shall be more than happy to help, Grey. It’s certainly good to have some new young blood around here - between you and me,” he lowered his voice confidentially, grinning a little mischievously now, “it can get a little stuffy and pompous around here sometimes, with all these middle-aged Tories so convinced of their own righteousness.” 

 

Grey grinned back at him. “Thank you, Drummond. It means a lot, truly.” 

 

Edward smiled, before taking his pocket watch out of his waistcoat and examining it. “We’d better head out there, Palmerston asked me to meet him. I expect Sir John will be waiting for you, too.” 

 

Grey nodded, gathering his papers. 

 

“After you,” Edward said, gesturing to the door. 

 

* * *

Edward returned home feeling much happier and more lighthearted than he had been when he’d left that morning. It still felt a little strange not to have Sir Robert by his side, but he had found it exciting being with Lord Palmerston, gaining a new perspective on everything, starting with a fresh slate. Palmerston had seemed very happy with his work, and he had sounded proud and even a little boastful whenever he had introduced him to others as ‘Drummond, previously Peel’s assistant, now mine.’ 

 

It also made him feel much happier and more at ease, knowing that James Grey had no interest in being his rival, but wanted to be his friend. It really was refreshing, having another man around who was of an age with him. What was more, he seemed honest and decent, with a mischievous sense of humour, refusing to take himself too seriously. Edward couldn’t help but like him, and he was genuinely looking forward to working with him. 

 

As if all this was not enough to lift his mood, he had arranged to meet Alfred this evening, at the house George had gifted to them. It had been three days since the last time he had had Alfred in his arms, which was far too long in his opinion. 

 

He felt a familiar twinge of guilt as he opened the front door. He had told Florence that he would be coming home only briefly, before ‘going out for dinner’ with Alfred. Well, it wasn’t  _ entirely _ a lie, he tried to tell himself - he and Alfred would probably eat something, at some stage. 

He remembered that little moment in the morning, before he left, when he and Florence had managed to laugh together for the first time in weeks. Perhaps they really could rebuild their friendship, gradually, he thought. He could start by telling her about his day and the new friend he had made. 

 

He walked towards the parlour, where she always sat reading or embroidering in the late afternoon, steeling himself in case she had returned to being politely and awkwardly distant with him. He focused on smiling kindly as he opened the parlour door, trying hard to wipe any trace of guilt or discomfort from his face. He wanted to make it clear that he came in peace. 

 

“Florence?”

 

The parlour was empty.

 

Edward frowned slightly. Florence was  _ always  _ in here at this time. Where else would she be, he pondered? It wasn’t the right time of day for her to be in the dining room - the drawing room, perhaps? The living room? 

 

He wandered around each of the downstairs rooms, with still no sign of her. Increasingly bewildered, Edward wondered if Florence had gone out to visit someone, and he had somehow managed to overlook a note that she had left for him.

 

“Florence?” he called again.

 

“Edward? Is that you?” came her voice from upstairs. 

 

Instantly alarmed by how faint Florence’s voice sounded, he bounded up the stairs two at a time.

 

“Florence? Where are you?”

 

“I’m in here,” she responded, her voice still sounding much weaker than usual. Her voice was coming from their bedroom. Growing increasingly more concerned, he turned the door handle.

 

Florence was fully clothed, but she was lying in bed, propped up against the pillows despite the fact that it was not yet six in the evening. Her maid was hovering awkwardly and uncertainly next to the bed.

Edward started as he noticed an unfamiliar, middle-aged man standing at Florence’s bedside table, who seemed to be packing things away into his large black bag. Edward stared at the stranger, more bewildered than ever. 

 

“Forgive me, but who exactly -?”

 

“Doctor Gulliver, at your service, Mr Drummond,” the man said, holding out a large hand. “Forgive my intrusion, I merely came to check up on your wife.”

 

Immediately, Edward felt the blood draining from his face, and a sinking feeling like a stone in his stomach. “Oh god, Florence,” he said, striding over to the bed and grasping her hand. 

 

He had been so selfish, thinking of how enjoyable his day had been, and how excited he was to finally have Alfred in his arms again, that he had almost completely forgotten Florence’s sudden stagger against the dresser before he had left for work, her grimace of pain. He had offered to stay with her, and she had insisted that she was fine, that he should go - he should not have listened!

 

“Florence...you’re ill,” Edward choked out, kneeling next to the bed. “I’m so sorry, I should have stayed with you today, I…”

 

He was rambling, hardly knowing what he was saying, but Florence cut him off.

 

“No.” She sounded distant, vague, as though she was struggling to comprehend what was happening. 

 

“No, I’m not ill.” He stared at her.

 

“I’m pregnant, Edward.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, this means that Drums and Flo are finally going to get a respite from the incredible awkwardness - although of course there are a few other problems that will crop up...
> 
> Who is this James Grey? What does he want from Drums? Stay tuned to find out - perhaps Chapter 18 will show us what Cecilia Wyndham has been up to, as well!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos fuel me! <3 <3 xxx


	18. The World Turned Upside Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Florence has some news for Edward - and Edward, in turn, has some news for Alfred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the wait, everyone! And, as usual...buckle in for the angst (sorry...I really do torture them sometimes...)

Edward stared at Florence, completely frozen for a moment, as his heart thundered in his ears. Dimly, he registered the door closing quietly behind him - Doctor Gulliver and Florence’s maid subtly trying to leave the two of them in peace, he assumed.

 

“What...what did you just say?”

 

The corner of her mouth twitched up in a small smile at the expression on his face.

 

“I said I’m pregnant, Edward.”

 

Edward inhaled, trying desperately to marshall his thoughts enough to make a coherent and meaningful response.

 

“Oh,” he said shakily.

 

His mind seemed to be teeming with so many thoughts that he didn’t know which one to focus on first. He clutched Florence’s hand tightly, feeling that he needed something to steady himself.

 

“Edward?” Florence asked him, concern etched across her face. “Are you alright?”

 

He nodded slowly. “I just...I need a moment.”

 

Florence nodded in understanding.

 

Florence...pregnant...that meant he had fulfilled his duty, at least for now!

He could not have continued having relations with her now, even if he had wanted to - it was common knowledge, was it not, that marital relations while a wife was with child had the potential to damage the baby?

Edward felt an immense sense of relief coursing through him, making him feel lighter, as though a burden he hadn’t even realised he was carrying had been suddenly lifted off his shoulders. No more relations for nine months meant a respite from the constant awkwardness between them, from seeing the discomfort in Florence’s eyes, from the sickening self-loathing which he had grown accustomed to feeling deep in the pit of his stomach at least two nights a week.

 

But perhaps this would be more than just a respite - perhaps, if they were to refrain from having these relations, they really could return to the friendship that they had been gradually, tentatively trying to rebuild, before the events of their honeymoon had shattered it. The thought made Edward almost want to cry with relief - perhaps he had not destroyed every chance of being Florence’s friend, perhaps there was still hope!

 

He stared at her propped up on the pillows in front of him, still trying to keep up with the thoughts racing through his mind, and dropped his gaze to her stomach. It was perfectly flat, as ever - it was hard to believe that anything was different. But something _was_ different, in fact, _everything_ was different. Florence was carrying a new human, an entirely new person that the two of them had created together.

Edward had never even given much thought to being a father before; fatherhood had always been something he knew was expected of him, but never something he particularly craved. But now...all of a sudden, he felt his throat closing up, tears of happiness welling in his eyes. Instinctively, he reached out and placed his hand gently on Florence’s still-flat stomach. All those nights with Florence had been almost unbearable, full of fear, discomfort, self-loathing and guilt - yet somehow, knowing that she was now growing their very own baby inside her filled him with such joy that it felt worth all the suffering that had come before.

Although he couldn’t yet feel any sign of its presence, right now his own child was lying quietly under his palm. Other than Alfred, of course, there could be nothing in the world more precious or wonderful.

 

“Edward?” Florence asked again, sounding even more concerned than before as he blinked away tears, his breathing shallow.

He stared back at her for a moment and then, barely knowing what he was doing, he flung his arms around her, hugging her tightly. As usual, there was nothing like the spark he felt whenever he held Alfred in his arms - but he was pleasantly surprised as he dimly registered that the physical contact no longer felt tense, awkward or uncomfortable. He was just so overwhelmed, he felt that he needed to hold onto her to convey his gratitude.

 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he whispered.

 

She seemed to freeze in shock for a split second, before laughing slightly and hugging him back. It was wonderful, feeling the tension that had built up between them ebbing away. They could almost have been children again themselves, carefree and giddy.

 

“I didn’t know you were so excited at the thought of being a father, Edward,” Florence said, grinning at him as they broke apart.

 

“Honestly, neither did I,” Edward confessed, grinning back at her. “But I am, Florence, I am, I am!”

 

Florence laughed again, sinking back against the pillow. Edward pulled the covers up over her properly.

 

“You must not get too cold, Florence,” he said sternly.

“I’m not too cold, Edward,” she said, rolling her eyes a little.

“But are you comfortable enough? I can fetch you another pillow, it doesn’t look like you have enough there…”

“I’m fine,” she responded.

“Perhaps I can get you a glass of water? If you just wait here for a moment then I’m sure -”

 

“Edward!” Florence interrupted him, her voice louder now. “I really am fine. There’s no need to mollycoddle me.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Edward responded, a little taken aback by her tone. “It’s just, you’re carrying our baby, you’re carrying the most precious thing in the world! You need to rest, Florence, you need to take care of yourself!”

 

“I _will_ take care of myself, I promise,” she answered. “And I appreciate your concern, Edward, really I do, but you don’t need to hover anxiously, fetching me endless blankets and drinks for the next nine months.”

 

“What can I do to help you, then?”

 

“Honestly, Edward, I think the only thing I need right now is a bit of sleep,” Florence murmured, her eyelids fluttering shut. “There’s really no need for you to keep a vigil by my bedside, you’ll be bored stiff within minutes. Besides, didn’t you say you were supposed to be meeting Lord Alfred for dinner this evening?”

 

Edward felt his stomach sink.

 

“Yes...yes, I am supposed to be meeting him.”

 

“Well then, you’d better get going, or you’ll be keeping him waiting.” She sounded like she was half asleep already. “I’ll be fine, Edward, truly.”

 

He nodded, squeezing her hand gently before getting up and walking towards the door.

 

Mere minutes ago, he had felt lighter than air at the prospect of having Alfred in his arms again. But now, he felt as if every step made the heavy, leaden feeling of dread and anxiety in his stomach grow.

He needed to break the news about Florence, before it became public knowledge and Alfred got the news from someone else at court.

But how? _How_ was he supposed to tell him something like that?

 

* * *

 

Florence opened her eyes as she heard Edward leave, staring at the door through which he had just left.

 

So much had happened in the last few hours, everything had changed. She had barely had time to process the momentous news the doctor had given her before Edward had come in and started fretting about her, and she felt like her head was still spinning. She just needed some time to herself, without Edward hovering anxiously next to her. Grateful as she was for his concern, she knew she needed to be alone for a little while, just to make sense of everything.

 

Had it really been only hours ago that she had stumbled against the dresser, a wave of pain and nausea taking her off guard as she laughed with Edward? With everything she knew now, she felt strangely distant from the person she had been this morning, as if months had passed rather than hours.

 

She remembered feeling a tentative edge of hope as Edward had grinned sheepishly at her, taking the cravat she was proffering. It had been the first time he had met her eyes properly in _weeks._ He had tried to make her laugh. She didn’t know what it was, exactly, but all of a sudden she had felt that warm, comfortable feeling of friendship and camaraderie, hesitantly trying to peek in between them.

 

It had been so long since she had felt like that around Edward; they had been living with this awful, cold and sharp edge of awkwardness, distance and unease between them, ever since they had first consummated their marriage on their honeymoon. It seemed such a long time since Florence had tried to convince herself that sharing a bed with Edward, becoming his wife properly, was the key to falling in love with him as she knew she ought to be. It was only a few weeks ago that she had told herself this, but now she knew the truth - bedding Edward did not make her magically fall in love with him. All it did was make her feel incredibly awkward and uncomfortable around him, anxious even to hold eye contact with the man who had been her closest friend when he was a boy.

Even though Florence knew it was irrational, knew that she and Edward would have had to share a bed sooner or later anyway, she had been cursing herself day in and day out for her utter naivety, for being so convinced that consummation would help her to fall in love that she had jeopardised the friendship they had been rebuilding.

 

She had been so hesitant to hope this morning, when they had laughed together for the first time in so long, so hyper-aware of the fragility of their relationship and so anxious that she was going to destroy the moment somehow, that she had been taken completely by surprise by the sudden, sharp twist of pain and nausea in her abdomen, which had vanished as quickly as it had come.

The incident had alarmed her, as she couldn’t remember ever feeling such a peculiar sensation before. Edward had seemed rather anxious about her, but she had tried not to show him her unease, not wanting to make him more unnecessarily worried when he was already so nervous about his first day working for Palmerston.

 

Once Edward had finally left for work, Florence had tried her best to put the bizarre incident behind her, attempting to distract herself by playing the pianoforte and flicking through one of Edward’s politics books. She often felt somewhat stifled and restless when alone in the house, and sometimes found herself wishing she had something more meaningful to pour her time into, something she could be passionate about like Edward was with his politics.

 

Still struggling to distract herself from her worry, she had been on the point of sitting down to pen a letter to Wilhemina, when she had suddenly felt another lurch of nausea from out of nowhere, even worse than it had been that morning. Realising that she was certainly going to be sick this time, she had practically sprinted for her boudoir, barely making it in time.

 

It had been somewhat humiliating having her maid Annie see her in such a state, pale and wan, pressing her burning forehead against the cool glass of the mirror and gripping the sink for support. But then, she supposed she had also been lucky to have Annie there, as she had felt so strangely weak and off-balance that she wasn’t sure she would have made it to her bed without Annie’s help.

When her maid had suggested they should send for a doctor as soon as possible, Florence had initially tried to insist that there was no need to make such a fuss, trying to convince both Annie and herself that she had probably just eaten something that disagreed with her.

 

Partially, she didn’t want to make Edward worried when he came home, particularly if it turned out there was nothing seriously wrong with her and she was merely making a fuss over nothing. But, if she was being honest with herself, the thought of a doctor coming around to examine her gave her a deeply uneasy and fearful quivering feeling in the pit of her stomach, irrational as it was.

She had felt this way about doctors, with their sternly impenetrable faces and their mysterious glinting instruments, ever since she had watched them going in and out of Rosalie Drummond’s bedroom as a child, speaking in hushed whispers to Charles and Frances as she and Edward sat, shut out of the room and desperately trying to understand why everything felt so wrong.  Her only other memorable experience with doctors had been in St Bartholomew’s Hospital, as she and Lord Alfred had waited for days, desperately praying that Edward would wake up. Of course, that story had turned out to have a much happier ending than Rosalie’s - but still, she felt that she would always associate those stern-faced men with the memories that seemed like nightmares.

 

Her maid Annie, though, clearly very concerned about her, had insisted that it was better to be safe than sorry, particularly as it was so unusual for the mistress to be out of sorts like this. Finally giving in, but insisting that the doctor should come and go as quickly as possible so as not to scare Edward for no reason, Florence had waited anxiously for his arrival as Annie went to summon him. Left alone in the silent room, she had struggled not to let her terrified imagination overwhelm her.

When the man who introduced himself as Dr Gulliver finally arrived, she had sat trying to keep her unease at bay as he asked her endless, personal and somewhat humiliatingly impertinent questions. Growing increasingly more tempted to have Annie escort him out, she had tried to wait patiently, bracing herself to hear that she had some tedious illness which would require her to confine herself to the house for weeks on end.

 

“Madam, you and your husband are to be congratulated - you have a baby on the way!”

 

Her brain had seemed to freeze up at those words. She had sat there staring at him for a moment, struggling to string a coherent thought together, wondering if she had somehow misheard or misunderstood.

 

“I...I’m sorry, what did you say?” She had choked out.

 

The doctor had chuckled, somewhat condescendingly. “I was offering you my congratulations, madam. You are pregnant. I am sure your husband will be delighted to hear the news when he returns from work.”

 

“Oh,” she had responded stupidly, her brain still desperately struggling to process the information.

She was going to be a _mother._ But that meant….

 

Her dazed train of thought had swiftly been interrupted by Edward bursting into the room, his expression terrified as he took in the sight of her pale face as she lay back against the pillows, the doctor hovering over her with his black bag. The way he had run forwards to clasp her hand had made her wonder, for a moment, if the sight of doctors and illness brought back similar horrifying memories for him.

 

It was difficult to reassure him that she was fine, when she herself was still reeling at the news. His first reaction was remarkably similar to her own. After asking her to repeat herself, he had gone completely silent for a few minutes, as though completely frozen. She could practically see his mind racing.

She had been about to ask him if he was alright, when he had surprised her by silently reaching out and placing his hand over her flat stomach, where their child was already growing. She barely had a moment to react to this, before Edward had flung his arms around her, profusely thanking her.

Perhaps it had just been due to her strange and overwhelming day, but she had suddenly felt emotion welling up in her so strongly that she’d had to will herself not to cry.

 

He had looked so happy, and it seemed, for a moment, that the uncomfortable distance between them had vanished completely. His happiness and excitement was infectious. Somehow, the news that they were going to be parents seemed to have made them friends again, at least for a while, and she was immensely grateful for this.

 

Despite her gratitude, though, she was still feeling exhausted and overwhelmed, her head spinning. Edward’s concern was endearing, but she still needed some time alone to process everything that had happened. Besides which, it was soon clear that his fretting about fetching her blankets and drinks and making sure her pillows were plump enough, while sweet and well-meaning, would almost certainly drive her insane within hours if she let him stay. Finally, she had persuaded him to go, reminding him of his appointment with Lord Alfred. She thought she caught a glimpse of panic on his face as he left; no doubt, a gentleman as ever, he was worrying about leaving her, even though she had told him to.

 

Finally alone in the quiet room, Florence settled back against the pillows, closing her eyes as she struggled to organise the thoughts racing around her head.

 

Although it had taken Edward a few moments to get over the shock, his joy and excitement about her pregnancy had taken her by surprise. Now that she had seen his beam of happiness, felt how gently he had placed his hand on her stomach, she wondered why she was only realising now what an amazing father he would be. He was kind, gentle and patient, utterly driven by his morals - she felt almost envious of her own child, when she considered how its’ father would compare to her own!

 

His overwhelmed excitement had caused something warm to settle in her stomach. She had always known that it was her duty to become a mother - but it was only now the shock was wearing off, and she had seen Edward’s overjoyed reaction, that she realised how much she wanted it. She could scarcely believe that she was growing a whole new person inside of her, but she knew all of a sudden that she was desperate to meet them, this child that she and Edward had made together. She wanted to protect them, to get to know them, she wanted to watch her baby grow and learn; she wanted the chance to do everything her parents never did for her.

 

The thought of meeting her baby even made the awkward discomfort she had gone through in Edward’s bed seem worth it. She froze for a moment, a smile spreading slowly across her face as she realised that she would not be permitted to share his bed again until after the baby was born, even if she had wanted to.

Almost immediately, she felt a rush of guilt. Surely, most married women did not feel quite so relieved at the prospect of abandoning marital relations with their husband? She had a strong sense that she was being absurdly ungrateful. Why, many women were married to oafs or brutes who were double their age and who cared about them not a whit  - and here she was, married to Edward Drummond, the kindest and most caring man she had ever known, objectively ridiculously handsome, as other women had so often enviously informed her, and yet she was thrilled at the prospect of escaping his bed!

But she couldn’t help it, she told herself. She had tried so hard to love him, to want him as she knew she should, but the more she had tried to force it, the further they had seemed to slip away from each other.

All she wanted, all she had ever wanted, was to be Edward’s best friend. And, ironically, perhaps this baby they had made together would be the key.

 

* * *

 

Having arrived at the house which George Paget had lent them, Edward stood outside, staring at the door, wrestling with himself.

 

Alfred had always felt like home, like his sanctuary.

He wished more than anything that the two of them could truly leave the outside world behind them when they were together, that he could keep making Alfred smile and laugh and never have to bring him any news that would hurt him.

 

Marrying Florence had been the hardest thing he had ever done. He had gone through with it, knowing that he was protecting her from her father and the brutes Lothian might have thrown her to - but now, he felt hot shame as he realised that he had never truly thought through what his marriage meant to Alfred.

 

Florence’s pregnancy, for him, was the only joy of his marriage - it almost made all the self-loathing, the guilt and the excruciating awkwardness worthwhile.

But he understood that he could not expect his Alfred to see it that way. For him, Edward was sure, the news would be a blow. What if Alfred thought the arrival of this baby would shut him out for good? What if Alfred decided that he couldn’t live like this, and left Edward alone with Florence and the baby? Edward felt as though ice was creeping through his chest at the very thought, and he almost cried out aloud.

 

No, he didn’t want to tell Alfred yet, he didn’t want to hurt him!

 _You_ have _to tell him_ , whispered a small voice in his head. He sighed. This was not something he could hide from Alfred, and he loved him too much to hide from him or lie, anyway.

Obviously, he was going to have to find a way to break the news as gently as possible, and the sooner the better, before it became public knowledge.

He supposed he would just have to bite the bullet and do it. Now was as good a time as any.

 

He swallowed, steeling himself, before finally reaching out to knock on the door. He had kept Alfred waiting long enough.

 

Alfred opened the door barely a moment later. He scarcely even checked that there was nobody else around, before seizing Edward by the shirt collar and pulling him inside.

 

Despite his anxiety, Edward couldn’t stop his heart swelling at the sight of Alfred, laughing a little at his enthusiasm as the door swung shut behind them.

 

“God, I’ve missed you,” Alfred whispered, before pressing his lips against Edward’s desperately, his hands already scrabbling to remove Edward’s coat.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Edward responded a little breathlessly. He was already struggling to think clearly, as Alfred threw his coat carelessly down and started on the buttons of his waistcoat. He had to focus, he had to tell Alfred the news!

 

“Alfred...I….wait…”

 

“ _Must_ I, Edward?” Alfred murmured, grinning. Edward gasped as Alfred began to nibble gently on his earlobe, before trailing his mouth down, pressing hot kisses along his neck.

 

Surely, he could allow himself this. He couldn’t bear to see Alfred’s face fall now. The news wasn’t _so_ urgent.

 

“You make a good point,” he said, grinning. He picked Alfred up in his arms, as he had been yearning to do for so many days. Alfred wrapped his legs around his waist, and Edward kissed him eagerly, thinking only of the taste of his lips as he carried him up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

Alfred lay, resting his chin on Edward’s chest, tracing his fingers lightly over his chest muscles, smiling as he felt Edward shivering slightly under his touch. He still couldn’t quite believe how much he missed this man when they were apart for only a few days. He would never have believed it was possible to love someone this much, before he had met Edward. Sometimes he almost wondered if Edward was magical in some way; somehow he managed to make Alfred crave him even _more_ than he had done before, every single time they made love.

 

He looked up into the intelligent dark eyes he adored so much, as Edward gently stroked his hair.

“I love you so much,” Edward murmured to him quietly.

He could not stop a lovestruck smile spreading across his face, blushing slightly as he bent his head to kiss the other man’s bare chest. He had not felt this safe or warm in days, he thought, as Edward tightened his arms around him.

 

“I wish we could just stay like this forever,” Alfred mused, tracing patterns across Edward’s chest absentmindedly.

He thought he heard Edward’s breath catch in his throat slightly before he responded. “Me too,” he answered, his voice sounding somewhat choked, as though he was trying to force back tears.

Immediately, Alfred’s heart went out to him, and he reached up to cup Edward’s face in his hands, stroking his thumbs across his cheekbones gently and leaning forwards to press a kiss to the tip of his nose.

He didn’t know exactly what was wrong - other than the usual pain of knowing that they could only be together for a few hours at a time - but he knew that Edward, thoughtful and idealistic as he was, had a tendency to bottle things up, and could be far too serious for his own good sometimes. It was always his aim to cheer him up, to see his face light up with that beautiful boyish smile that was like the sun coming out.

 

“I’m sorry, I was being rather impatient before because I missed you so. What was it you wanted to say to me, my darling?”

 

Edward’s breath hitched again, and Alfred saw something flicker through his eyes before he averted his gaze. Fear? Or was it something else - shame? Guilt, perhaps?

 

“I - it’s not urgent,” Edward said evasively, still not meeting his eyes. “We don’t have to talk about it right now…”

 

Alfred felt his stomach beginning to twist into anxious knots. It was most unusual for Edward to act like this. Clearly, there was something he didn’t want to tell him - and that only made Alfred want to know more. Whatever it was, surely it would be better than leaving his imagination to run wild with all his ideas about what Edward might be keeping from him, no matter how unlikely or downright absurd those ideas were.

He raised himself up on his elbows. “Edward, darling, look at me,” he said firmly.

 

Edward met his eyes, somewhat reluctantly it seemed.

 

“Your news _is_ urgent, Edward, because I say it is. Now, tell me what you were going to say.”

 

Edward stared at him, moving his mouth silently for a moment as though he was struggling to get the words out. “I...I don’t know how to - “

“Just say it, Edward,” Alfred interjected, his anxiety and impatience making his voice sound rather sharper than he had intended.

Edward winced slightly, and nodded resignedly.

 

“My wife….Florence, she….that is to say....”

 

Alfred raised an eyebrow at him, and Edward sighed.

 

“Florence is pregnant, Alfred.”

 

Immediately, Alfred felt ice beginning to creep across his chest. He couldn’t breathe. There was total silence in the room for a moment as Alfred stared at the man he loved, his mind reeling.

 

“Pregnant?” He whispered.

 

Edward nodded.

 

“How long have you known?”

 

“Only a few hours,” Edward whispered.

 

Alfred nodded slowly, taking a shaky breath in.

 

“Alfred, I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you, and I....”

 

Alfred’s heart pounded deafeningly, his stomach roiling. There was a strange ringing in his ears, making Edward’s voice seem as though it was coming from a long way away.

Abruptly, barely even knowing what he was doing, he sat up and got out of the bed.

 

“Where are you going?” Edward asked, sounding for a moment like a lost and frightened boy.

 

“To the palace,” he answered tonelessly, reaching for his clothes mechanically and pulling them on as fast as possible. “Her Majesty will be wondering where I have got to.”

 

He doubted whether Edward would believe this flimsy excuse for leaving, but at the moment he found that he did not care.

 

“Alfred, I -”

 

“Please, Edward. Please don’t say anything,” Alfred cut him off. His voice was strained with the effort it was taking to prevent himself from breaking down in front of Edward. “There’s nothing you can say.”

 

Edward looked at him and nodded, biting his lip. Trying to keep himself from crying, Alfred assumed.

 

“When will I see you?” Edward asked timidly, as though frightened Alfred was about to start shouting at him.

 

Alfred shrugged jerkily. “I really don’t know, Edward. I need some time to think.”

 

Edward watched him silently as he pulled his coat on. Alfred could feel the tears burning his throat, threatening to spill down his cheeks. He turned hastily towards the door. If he started sobbing, Edward would pull him into his arms and try to tell him that everything would be alright. He could not handle that right now.

 

Edward spoke again just as Alfred placed his hand on the door handle.

“I love you,” he said quietly. “You know that, don’t you?”

 

Alfred froze. He did not look at the man he loved. He didn’t think he’d be able to bear the expression on his face.

Without turning around, Alfred nodded sharply. “I know,” he said, his voice coming out harsh and choked. He opened the door and left as fast as he could, hardly able to see through his tears, leaving Edward alone in the room.

 

* * *

 

It was really very stupid of him to be so shocked by Edward’s news, Alfred told himself angrily as he hurried back towards the palace, barely even noticing the rain beating down. Edward had a wife, and this was what happened when men got married; sooner or later, they became fathers.

 

Of course, that was only if they bedded their wives.

The thought of Edward in bed with Florence made his breath come in heaving sobs - Alfred wondered for a moment if he was going to be sick. He remembered all too well Edward’s speech back at the hospital, after the private conversation he had had with _her_ \- he needed to marry her, Edward had said, because he cared about her and he wanted to protect her. Alfred had accepted his decision at the time, though reluctantly, knowing that the man he’d fallen in love with could never live with himself if he ignored his moral compass.

 

But they had never discussed _this_ aspect of Edward’s marriage. He had bitterly asked Edward, once, just what he planned to do with her once he had married her. As he recalled, Edward had refused to answer the question properly, muttering that he would think about it later. But he had never claimed that he was _not_ going to bed her. It was clear to Alfred now that it had been idiotic of him to assume, or even hope, that Edward had not consummated his marriage. He felt his stomach twisting in knots as he involuntarily clenched his fists. Was it not enough that the woman got to share a house and a name with the man he loved? Got to be acknowledged by the outside world as the most important person in Edward’s life? She had to share a bed with him as well, run her hands all over his beautiful body, have his gorgeous face be the very first thing she saw, every single morning - _no, no no!_

 

And as if that was not enough - she was giving Edward a child. Alfred knew instantly, though he had never really thought about it before, that Edward was going to be a wonderful father; his child would be the luckiest one in the world. But it was Florence who was giving him this, giving Edward a gift that he never could.

He pressed a hand to his mouth to stifle a sob as he remembered what Edward had said about her: _‘I care for her deeply.’_ How much more would he care for her now that she was going to be the mother of his child? Surely, becoming a parent with somebody formed a connection like nothing else could - how could he ever hope to compete with that?

 

Barely paying any attention to his whereabouts, Alfred arrived at the palace before he knew it. Dimly registering the lateness of the hour, he made his way around to the servants’ entrance, struggling to stifle his sobs as he climbed the servants’ staircase.

 

Once he had finally reached the sanctuary of his bedchamber, he strode over to the dresser and clutched onto it tightly for support, heaving in great breaths to try and calm himself, as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

He looked a fright. He was pale as marble, trembling, his hair rain-sodden, tear streaks running down his face, his eyes red-rimmed.

 

Hastily stripping off his coat, waistcoat and cravat, he threw them carelessly on the bed behind him, and bent down, opening his cupboard and rummaging until he found the whiskey bottle he was looking for. For a few seconds, he looked half-heartedly for a glass, before quickly deciding that the search would take too long, opening the bottle and taking a deep swig directly from it.

 

Bottle in one hand, he stared out of the window at the night, listening to the rain lashing against the glass.

He could not comprehend how his world had turned upside down so fast. Edward was going to be a father, he was going to have a child with _her._

If she was pregnant and delicate, he would have to spend even more time at her side than he did already. If he already _cared for her_ so _deeply_ , and she was giving him something so precious and wonderful….God, what if he began to fall in love with her? What if Edward found, when he was a father, that he had no time and no love left for _him_? What if Edward abandoned him for good?

 

Alfred barely even registered the sound of the whiskey bottle shattering on the floor as it slipped from his numb fingers; acting on instinct, he hurtled towards his washroom as he felt an insistent, fierce twist of nauseating pain deep in his stomach. He barely made it to the sink in time as he retched.

 

For a while, he sat on the floor, his forehead pressed against the cold sink, tears blurring his vision as he tried to find the willpower to get up. Gradually, when he was sure the nausea had passed, he pushed himself to his feet, shaking.

In a daze, he made his way back to the bed, not bothering to remove anything except his shoes before flinging himself down on top of it.

He curled in on himself, his body heaving with sobs. Strange, he thought, how even when it was Edward who was causing him this pain, he still craved his warm body curled around him for comfort.

 _You’re pathetic_ , he told himself harshly. _And you’re alone._

 

* * *

 

 

Alfred would have given anything to have been able to stay in his room all the next day, and the day after that if possible, hiding his face from the world. But duty called, and unfortunately his duties dictated that he must stand with Her Majesty and the other courtiers, and help to entertain them.

His head pounded as he stood silently by the Queen’s side, staring down at the floor. He wasn’t quite sure if the headache was solely from his sleepless night, or if he had perhaps drunk more of the whiskey than he had realised before smashing it. God, he wished George could come back and keep him company again. Why did he have to be summoned back to the army so quickly?

 

Well, he thought to himself sulkily, he could stand with Her Majesty and the court as he was bid, but he would be damned if he was going to make any effort to entertain them today. Let them entertain themselves, if they wanted to.

It was hard to believe that he had once loved his life at court so much. He was being forced to stand there, smiling placidly, as courtiers were announced and presented to Her Majesty and His Highness, some new to court and some returned after an absence. It was so frustratingly tedious, he felt like he was on the edge of screaming. Could anyone really care less, he asked himself? Surely, there were far more pressing matters in the world?

 

As yet another lady curtsied to Victoria, waxing lyrical about the honour of being invited to court, Alfred suddenly sensed someone coming to stand next to him.

He turned slightly, to see Lady Cecilia Wyndham looking at him silently, her green eyes studying him with concern. He tried to smile at her - but the muscles in his face did not seem to be very cooperative at the moment.

 

“Are you quite alright, Lord Alfred?” she whispered, as Victoria’s newest lady-in-waiting continued droning on.

“Perfectly alright, thank you,” he answered shortly.

She looked at him for a moment.

“You’re lying,” she said quietly.

He darted a glance at her, a denial ready on his lips - but something in her expression told him there was no point even trying.

He sighed. “And here I thought a good courtier was a good liar.”

“Well, evidently you’re not a very good courtier then,” Cecilia responded, her wit rapier-sharp as ever.

Alfred smiled a little, despite himself.

“Why does nobody else seem to have noticed anything amiss, then, if I’m so terrible at hiding things?” he challenged her.

“Oh, they’re mostly too wrapped up in themselves, I expect,” she whispered irreverently. “Although I’m sure Miss Coke has noticed - she sees a lot more than most people give her credit for, you know. Particularly where you’re concerned. You’re lucky to have such a friend as her.”

Alfred looked over at Wilhemina, feeling a twinge of guilt that he had never thanked her properly for everything she had done for him. “You’re right, she is a wonderful friend,” he murmured. “Although I think, in recent weeks, she might perhaps have been a bit too distracted by Sir John Stanhope to think about me and my moping.”

Cecilia grinned a little. “I think you may be right there, Lord Alfred.”

The two of them looked at Wilhemina and Sir John, staring across the room at each other as though they couldn’t see or hear anyone else. At least someone was happy, Alfred thought to himself somewhat bitterly. Well, if anyone deserved it, he supposed, it was Miss Coke.

 

“This moping of yours, Lord Alfred,” Cecilia whispered after a moment. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with your love that you told me about, would it? The one who is married?”

Alfred started, staring at her, his heart leaping into his throat for a moment, before he relaxed slightly, remembering that he had never actually told her that his love was not a woman.

He sighed again. “Am I really so transparent? Or are you always just irritatingly perceptive?”

She laughed quietly. “It’s a gift.”

Once again, Alfred gave a small, reluctant grin.

  


“The Duchess of Sutherland, ma’am,” rang out the court announcer’s voice.

 

“Harriet!” Victoria cried delightedly, jumping up to embrace the new arrival. “We have missed you, it has been too long!”

“It has indeed, ma’am,” Harriet responded, smiling.

 

“You are most welcome back at court,” said Victoria, beaming at her. “And I’m sure Lord Alfred has been missing you almost as much as I have, haven’t you, Lord Alfred?”

 

“Oh, I’m sure Lord Alfred has been far too busy having adventures to bother with missing me, ma’am,” Harriet answered, grinning as she looked at him.

Alfred saw worry flit across her face as soon as her eyes met his. Perhaps he really was being too obvious about his pain, he thought. But then, Harriet had known him for longer than almost anybody else had.

He felt an unexpected rush of affection as he walked forwards to greet her, bowing over her hand. He really had missed having his old friend at court - he had not realised how much until he had seen her.

“Don’t be silly, I am never too busy for you,” he said, smiling at her.

“Forgive me, Harriet, I have some more tedious introductions to get through,” said the Queen, rolling her eyes. “I am sure Lord Alfred will be happy to update you on all you have missed - but I’m afraid I shall have to steal you back from him after dinner!”

 

Alfred offered Harriet his arm, which she took, and drew her back to where Cecilia was standing.

He looked her up and down. She was out of her mourning colours for her late husband, finally, dressed in a beautiful gown of dark plum velvet. Presumably, the end of her mourning period was the reason she was back at court. She looked happier and more relaxed than Alfred had seen her in months.

“You look well, Harriet,” he said. “Happy.”

“I am,” she responded. She swept her gaze over him. “You look neither,” she said bluntly. “You’ve been moping. I could see it a mile away.”

Alfred grimaced, as Cecilia elbowed him gently. “Told you you were a bad courtier.”

Harriet looked at her in surprise, grinning slightly.

“I don’t know you, but I like you already,” she said. “Somebody needs to tell him he’s being ridiculous while I’m not around!”

“Very funny,” Alfred said sardonically. “Harriet, this is my new annoyingly perceptive friend, Lady Cecilia Wyndham. Lady Cecilia - my oldest annoyingly perceptive friend, Harriet Sutherland.”

 

Harriet reached out and squeezed Cecilia’s hand gently. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Cecilia. Any friend of Alfred’s is a friend of mine.”

Cecilia smiled at her a little shyly. “Likewise.”

“She’s right, you know, Alfred,” Harriet said, turning back to him. “Moping about never does anybody any good. Don’t you think I should know?” She raised an eyebrow at him, silently reminding him of the pain she herself had suffered.

Alfred winced slightly, shame-faced. “You’re right. As usual.”

“Well then, don’t you think it’s about time you tried to take your mind off it, whatever it is?” She said lightly. He looked at her, grateful as ever for her tact, knowing that she likely had a fairly good idea of what was causing his pain.

“Why don’t you do something chivalrous - like taking two ladies for a walk around the gardens, for instance? I have missed them.”

“Well, I suppose...if Her Majesty can spare us for a little while?” he asked, looking at Victoria hopefully.

 

“Yes, yes, of course - I only wish I could come with you!” said the Queen. “Just don’t keep Harriet from me for too long, Lord Alfred!”

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am,” he responded, offering one arm to each of the ladies, as Harriet leaned across him to ask Cecilia how long she had been at court.

 

They were right, he realised.

Edward’s news had hurt him, badly, but hovering around like a miserable ghost was scarcely going to help anything.

He shouldn’t have left Edward so abruptly last night. He was probably worried sick.

He would send him a note at the first opportunity.

Difficult as it was going to be, they needed to talk.

 

In the meantime, though, it seemed he had been wrong. Life was hardly easy, but he was, at least, a little luckier than he had thought before.

He was not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me - I promise the boys will talk next chapter!
> 
> As usual, comments and kudos make my day <3 <3 Thank you to everyone who's already done either/both of these things, you keep motivating me to write this xxx
> 
> Might be a little break before Chapter 19, just to make sure the plot bunnies are hopping properly and well fed!


	19. Advice, Apologies and Interferences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After receiving some advice, Edward goes to speak to Alfred. Some tensions are resolved - but as always, some new tensions will arise...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for the long hiatus, everyone! I promise, I am not dead - I've just been having an extremely busy couple of months with university assignments and school placements! Sorry to leave you all hanging for so long with our boys being so upset!
> 
> The good news is that I am now on holidays for the rest of the year, and I will be dedicating a solid chunk of my holidays to fic writing! So I will try to update as much as possible over the next few weeks, hopefully with the Christmas chapter arriving reasonably on time - and I'm also planning to do a Drumfred Christmas AU oneshot at Hogwarts, so look out for that in the Victoria/Harry Potter crossover section over the next week or so!
> 
> Historical Note: 'Oliver Twist' was first published (in serialised format) in 1837, the same year Queen Victoria came to the throne. I was going to have the boys reading 'A Christmas Carol' together instead, but I figured I should probably leave that for the actual Christmas chapter, which will be set a few months after this one (we're round about September 1846 currently). 
> 
> And finally, without further ado - I hope you all enjoy Chapter 19!

As his new friend James Grey talked on at length, Edward stared at him vaguely without really seeing him, the words washing over him, a meaningless babble of sound. 

 

Edward had barely had any sleep over the past two nights. Every time he had closed his eyes, the image of Alfred’s pale and horrified face had swum before him again, his shocked voice echoing through Edward’s mind.   _ ‘Pregnant?’  _

 

Of course the two of them had quarrelled before, but never before had Alfred gotten out of the bed and started hurriedly dressing himself, without a word to him, avoiding his eyes as though he was afraid to lay himself bare, afraid to let Edward know he was vulnerable. 

Edward had opened his mouth to try and comfort him - though he had hardly known what to say - but Alfred had shut him down before he could even get the words out, his voice shaking, insisting that there was nothing he could say to make this better. 

Alfred had refused to tell him when - or if - he would come back, saying only that he ‘needed time to think.’ 

 

But that was not the worst part. When he had tried to remind Alfred of how much he loved him, desperately wanting to hear it back,  _ needing  _ to hear it back - the only answer he had received was ‘I know.’ And then the man he adored more than anything else in the world had wrenched open the door and left, without a single glance back at him. 

 

Edward had not heard anything from him since. He hadn’t been able to sleep, he had barely touched his food, he scarcely heard a word that was said to him. He did not know what was happening, he didn’t know what Alfred was thinking, what he had decided. He had said he needed ‘time to think’ - how much time? Had he decided their relationship caused him too much turmoil, was he furious at Edward for all the pain he was causing him? Was that why Alfred had refused to reaffirm his love - had he, Edward, hurt him one too many times and thus forfeited his right to it? 

God, he didn’t have any of the answers, he didn’t know  _ anything _ . All he knew was that, somewhere, Alfred was in pain, and it was his fault, and he did not know how to comfort him. Alfred would not let him, anyway.

 

“Um...Drummond?” 

 

Edward started slightly when James Grey said his name concernedly, finally cutting into his reverie. 

 

“Yes?” 

 

“It’s just....” Grey looked a little sheepish, uncertain about what to say. “You seemed somewhat far away. A little out of sorts, perhaps….Forgive me, I hope I am not overstepping my place. But you have not seemed quite yourself these past few days, actually. Are you….are you sure you are quite alright?” 

 

Edward stared at him, somewhat taken aback. He had never thought that Grey paid such close attention to him. Truth be told, he was somewhat touched. 

 

“I...I had not realised I was quite so transparent,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. 

 

Grey let out a chuckle. “I hate to break it to you, Drummond, but you are not quite as much of a closed book as perhaps you hoped....” 

 

Edward grinned a little sheepishly, despite himself. 

“So I’ve been told,” he responded, omitting to mention that it was always Alfred who told him so, curled around him in bed, poking gently at him with a teasing glint in his beautiful eyes and demanding to know what he was thinking, unless he wanted to be mercilessly tickled. 

 

“So, if you don’t mind my asking -  _ is  _ there anything the matter, Drummond? And is there anything I can do to help?”

 

Edward looked at him, frowning slightly as he tapped a rhythm on the desk absentmindedly. Grey did not seem to be asking just as a matter of courtesy; it appeared he genuinely did want to help if he could. 

It really was tempting to confide in him. Usually, when he was driving himself insane worrying about something, as he was naturally inclined to do, Alfred was the one who made him breathe deeply, who brought him back to earth, who made him laugh until he could barely even remember what he had been worrying about. 

But now, Alfred was the  _ cause  _ of his worry, Alfred was refusing to speak to him. He didn’t know if Alfred was only heartbroken, or if he was furious as well, he didn’t know if they were in a fight, or if it was all over and there was no ‘they’ anymore, only ‘him.’ He was at his wits’ end.

 

Perhaps Grey would be able to offer him some kind of advice? Or, even if he couldn’t, perhaps it would just be a relief to  _ talk  _ to someone, to say something out loud so it wasn’t just circling round and around in his head? 

But then, what on earth could he say? How could he explain himself?  _ I told the man I love that I impregnated my wife, and now I’m terrified he’s going to leave me and find another man to love? _

 

Edward sighed again, trying not to picture the look on Alfred’s face if he could see him now.

 

“It really is very kind of you to ask, Grey, but I’m not sure there is anything you could do to help me. I...I have hurt someone. Someone who is very important to me. And I….I regret it more than I can possibly express. Just the thought of them in pain, because of me….

 

He winced as he remembered again Alfred’s heartbroken face, the determined set of his jaw and the trembling of his mouth as he had got up, refusing to meet Edward’s eyes. 

 

There was a moment of silence as Grey looked at him, sympathy written across his face. 

 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Drummond,” he said quietly. “This person that you hurt, the one who is so important to you...have you told them how sorry you are?”

 

Edward swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat, as tears began to sting his eyes. “I....I tried,” he whispered. “But they were so upset….so angry....so disappointed in me….they wouldn’t let me speak, they just left, and I….” 

 

He closed his eyes, trying to breathe deeply to calm the anxiety lodged in his chest, just as Alfred always told him to do whenever he woke from another nightmare about his little sister. 

 

Without a word, Grey scraped his chair back, came around Edward’s desk and bent down, opening the cupboard door and taking out a crystal decanter of whiskey. He poured a generous measure into a tumbler, and pushed it towards Edward. 

Edward stared at him. “It’s the middle of the day....we’re at work....”

 

Grey shrugged. “You look like you could use it, and what Palmerston doesn’t know can’t hurt him. Besides, it’s not as if you were focusing on your work at all anyway.” 

 

Edward grinned sheepishly again, and accepted the tumbler from Grey, who swiftly poured a glass out for himself as well. Edward raised one eyebrow at him slightly, and he shrugged. 

“Would hardly be very polite for me to leave you drinking alone, would it, Drummond?” 

Edward chuckled slightly despite himself, as Grey clinked their tumblers against each other. 

 

Grey leaned back in his chair, studying Edward thoughtfully with his head tilted to the side slightly. Edward opened his mouth to speak, searching for the right words, but Grey spoke up again before he could find them. 

 

“Has anyone ever told you that you could do with relaxing a little more, Drummond?” he asked. 

Edward grinned, colouring a little in embarrassment. “Perhaps once or twice,” he responded. 

“You really should give it a go, you know,” the other man remarked. “You might find your life would feel a little less complicated.” 

Edward let out a disbelieving laugh. “Well, that would certainly be a nice change,” he said, wondering what Grey might say if he knew just  _ how  _ complicated his life was at the moment. 

 

There was a brief silence as Grey looked at him curiously, before speaking up again.

 

“Look, Drummond, I can’t pretend to know exactly what’s going on in your life, and I wouldn’t ask you to tell me anything more than you’re comfortable with. But if this person that you hurt is really so important to you, and you don’t know where you stand with them at the moment, then I think you need to go and talk to them. Explain. Apologise and tell them exactly how you feel, and make sure they’ve listened and understood.” 

 

Edward stared at him, wondering why he had never thought to confide his troubles in him before. 

“That...that is very sound advice, Grey,” he said, a little stunned. 

Grey grinned at him again, raising his glass slightly. 

“I have been known to spout wisdom on the rare occasion,” he said airily. 

Edward chuckled, tipping back some more whiskey.  He  _ did  _ feel a little calmer. 

 

“Honestly, though, Drummond; you can always come and talk to me, whenever you need to get something off your chest. You don’t need to tell me every single detail, of course, but I’m here if you just need a friend to listen to you.” 

 

“I...thank you, Grey,” Edward responded, a little taken aback still. Introverted and serious as he was, friendship and intimacy had never really been been something that came instantaneously or automatically for him. 

 

“Happy to help,” the other man answered, grinning. 

 

Edward wasn’t quite sure what to say next, but luckily he was saved by a knock on the office door. 

 

One of the House’s page boys entered the room timidly, and Edward tried his best to look dignified and busy, despite the open whiskey bottle in front of him.

“What is it, Tommy?” 

“Letter arrived for you, Mr Drummond, sir,” Tommy responded, holding it out to him. 

Moving forwards to retrieve it, Edward suddenly felt a great leap of hope in his chest as he recognised the handwriting on the envelope.

Trying hard not to appear too eager, he slit the envelope open with trembling fingers. 

  
  


_ Drummond, _

_ I apologise that it has taken me a while to write. I know there is much we need to discuss.  _

_ If you are amenable to meeting with me, I will be waiting in the usual place. If it is not too much hassle, come as soon as you get a chance. _

_ Yours, _

_ Alfred _

 

Edward looked up from the letter, his hands still shaking as he processed what he had just read. 

Alfred wanted to speak to him. Alfred wasn’t giving up on him…

 

He let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding, an unintentional grin spreading across his face. 

 

“Good news, I take it?” Grey asked with a grin of his own. 

 

“Hmm?” Edward asked. His mind full of Alfred, it was difficult to take in anything else. 

 

Grey rolled his eyes a little. “I said, ‘good news?’” 

 

“Oh...yes, I….” 

 

He trailed off. Alfred’s letter made it sound as if he was already waiting in the house George had given them. Edward had a few hours of work left before he would be dismissed - but if Alfred was finally willing to talk to him, and he wanted to talk  _ now _ ….

 

“Grey,” he said suddenly, coming to a decision on the spot. 

 

“Yes?” the other man responded, sounding amused.

 

“I have a rather urgent call to make, I’m afraid. Could you pass on my apologies to Palmerston, please? Tell him I shall see him tomorrow.” 

 

“I’m sure I can arrange that,” said Grey, shaking his head and grinning as Edward pulled his coat on as fast as he could. “Honestly, Drummond, you’re lucky Palmerston is so fond of you, you know.” 

 

“Thank you so much, you are a gentleman and a hero,” Edward declared as he pulled his top hat on hastily. 

 

“Once again, Drummond, happy to help,” said the other man. 

 

Edward tipped his hat a little playfully at the door. “See you tomorrow, Grey.” 

 

* * *

Standing outside the house that George Paget had given them, Edward felt a prickling anxiety starting to creep back into his chest. 

What if he had been too quick to hope? He had been so relieved to finally hear from Alfred that he’d practically flown out of the office - but now that he was standing here, it seemed suddenly profoundly stupid to have assumed that Alfred asking to see him meant that he had forgiven him. 

He cast his mind back over the wording of the letter.  _ ‘I know there is much we need to discuss’.... _ But what did that mean? Was Alfred about to rage at him? Or was it worse? Was this a goodbye? 

He swallowed hard, his heart pounding as he struggled to remember Grey’s advice.  _ ‘Apologise and tell them exactly how you feel, and make sure they’ve listened and understood.’  _ But what if Alfred wasn’t interested in listening? God, he wasn’t ready for this…

 

As he stood there trying to calm his breathing, the door suddenly opened, making him jump. There in front of him stood Alfred, a slight frown creasing his beautiful face. 

“I saw you through the window,” he explained before Edward could ask. “Were you planning on standing there working yourself into a panic all night, Edward, or would you actually like to come in and sit with me?”

 

Edward stared at him mutely, his eyes tracing over Alfred’s face as though memorising it. He had spent so much time thinking about what he was going to say - but now that he was here, marvelling at how beautiful Alfred was, every single word seemed to have flown out of his head.

 

Alfred rolled his eyes at him a little, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, for goodness’s sake, just come inside, you ridiculous man,” he said, reaching out to grasp Edward’s arm, and physically tugging him through the door. 

 

As Alfred pulled him towards the living room, Edward looked at him sideways, feeling somewhat comforted and reassured by the familiar warmth of Alfred’s hand on his arm. He didn’t  _ sound  _ too angry….

 

Releasing him, Alfred sat down on the couch and looked up at him expectantly. Edward hovered, hesitating, and Alfred sighed. “Come sit with me, Edward.” 

 

Edward perched tentatively next to him, and Alfred picked up a plate of biscuits sitting waiting on the table in front of them, proffering it. Edward took one automatically, more because he was trying to be on his best behaviour than out of any particular desire. “Thank you,” he mumbled. He crumbled the biscuit absentmindedly in his fingers, staring at Alfred as he tried to decide where to start. 

 

Alfred broke the silence first. “I missed you,” he said quietly. 

Edward breathed a sigh of relief, eyes tracing over Alfred’s face. “I missed you too,” he responded. “So, so much.” 

 

Alfred’s lips lifted up in a small smile again. He looked like he was gathering himself to say something, but Edward, desperate to break the silence, got there before him. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, much more loudly than he had intended to, making Alfred jump slightly. He rushed on, barely knowing what he was saying. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, I should never have told you the news in such a way. And I know that I hurt you, and it’s been  _ killing  _ me, Alfred, and I never want to hurt you like that again. I know you’re angry with me, and you have every right to be, but I promise-”

 

“Edward, can you let me get a word in edgeways, please?” Alfred cut in, interrupting his rambling. 

 

Edward stopped speaking abruptly and looked down, glancing up at Alfred fearfully under his eyelashes. “Of course,” he mumbled, relieved to see that Alfred was smiling slightly again. 

 

“I’m sorry, too,” Alfred said quietly. “You’re right, what you said hurt me, a lot” - Edward flinched violently - “but I’m sorry for leaving you so abruptly, and for behaving so distantly since then. I...like I said that night, I needed some time to think. And now I have had that time.” 

 

“And?”, Edward whispered, his heart pounding, terrified of what the answer might be. 

 

Alfred sighed. “And I took a bit of time to cool down, to speak to my friends. I think it was good for me to get a bit of space, Edward, I needed to clear my head. I’m not going to pretend I was coping particularly well, thinking of you and...and  _ her _ , making a child together....” His voice cracked, his face twisting as though the words physically hurt to say, and Edward winced again, reaching out towards the man he loved in an instinctive urge to comfort him. Alfred swallowed, and kept speaking determinedly. 

 

“Edward, I didn’t know how to respond, knowing that you’re going to be a father, knowing that you are going to be sharing something so precious with  _ her _ , something that I can never give you no matter how much I wish I could. To be honest, I’m  _ still  _ not sure how to respond.” He dragged his eyes up to meet Edward’s, and Edward swallowed down his pain at the fear and vulnerability on his face. 

 

“But then I thought about what matters most to me, and I realised that the answer to that will always be the same. It’s you, Edward.  _ You  _ matter most to me. I love you,  _ so  _ much” - he reached up to cradle Edward’s face in his hands - “and as long as you still want me, I will get through this, somehow. Because nothing is more important than that.” 

 

Edward blinked rapidly through the sudden tears filling his eyes. “Oh, thank god,” he whispered, and they both laughed a little through their tears. He leaned forward slightly, and Alfred mirrored him, so they were resting their foreheads together silently, breathing each other in.

 

“Wait, what do you mean, ‘if I still want you’?” Edward asked suddenly, breaking the silence as his brain caught up with his emotions. 

 

Alfred sighed, shrugging slightly. “I just thought...you have been intimate with  _ her _ ...and I imagine that becoming parents must create a bond like nothing else in the world…. I thought that perhaps once the baby is born you might not have time for....”

 

Edward pulled back, staring at him for a moment, before sighing and pulling Alfred into his arms, holding him tightly. “Alfred, I don’t know exactly what it will be like, becoming a father, but I can absolutely promise you that hell would have to freeze over and the world would have to stop spinning before I stopped wanting to be with you. I love you more than I even knew it was possible to love. We’ve been through this.” 

 

Alfred froze for a moment, as though processing Edward’s words, before burying his face in his chest. “You promise?” he asked in a choked voice, his words slightly muffled against Edward’s chest.

 

Edward pressed a lingering kiss to the top of Alfred’s head, tightening his arms around the man he loved and breathing in the familiar scent that made him feel he was home. 

“I promise.” 

 

They stayed like that in silence for a few moments, just breathing each other in. 

 

“You know, I thought  _ you  _ were going to leave  _ me _ ,” Edward whispered against Alfred’s hair. 

Alfred broke away just enough to look up at him, bewilderment written across his face. 

“What?”

“Well,” Edward began, starting to feel foolish already, “I told you I loved you, that night as you were leaving. And you didn’t say it back. You just said ‘I know’.” His voice cracked on the words. “And then I didn’t hear anything from you for days afterwards, and I thought...I thought maybe you were done.” 

 

Alfred sighed, looking somewhat shamefaced.

“I...I was just thrown, Edward. I needed to get out of there, I didn’t want you to see me crying. Because I knew you’d try to comfort me, and tell me everything would be alright, and….I wasn’t ready for that. Seeing you with a baby that  _ she  _ has given you is going to hurt, I can’t deny that.” Edward felt his heart twist in pain and guilt, and reached out his hand. Alfred took it, squeezing it tightly as he continued speaking. 

 

“But no, Edward. I’m certainly not going to leave you. I don’t think I could stand the pain of being away from you. Remember when I tried to push you away to protect you, that night when I behaved so hideously at Ciros?” Alfred’s voice was suddenly full of shame, and Edward nodded sharply as he flinched at the memory. Alfred gripped his hand tighter as he gave a bitter little laugh. 

“I couldn’t even last one day away from you, that’s why I sent that note begging you to come back and meet me. And then, when I heard what had happened….”

He swallowed and looked up at Edward, his beautiful eyes haunted by the memory of his terror and grief. Edward pulled him close again, stroking circles on his back to soothe him.

Alfred screwed up his eyes tightly, as though willing the memories to disappear. 

“We have been through so much, Edward, you and I,” Alfred murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to Edward’s shoulder. “No matter how difficult things get, I will  _ never  _ give you up. Not without a fight. Not until the last breath leaves my body.” 

 

Edward felt a lump come to his throat, as his heart turned over in his chest. What had he ever done, he asked himself for the thousandth time, to deserve this beautiful man’s love?

He tipped Alfred’s face up towards him gently, and kissed him softly and sweetly, trying to tell him without words just how precious he was. 

 

“Alfred,” he whispered. 

“Mmm?”, Alfred answered, still looking a little dazed from the kiss. 

“I’m happy that I am going to be a father, and I am excited to meet my child” - Alfred tried to look away, but Edward cradled his face firmly and gently - “but I am also excited for  _ you  _ to meet my child, if you are willing.”

He stroked his thumbs over Alfred’s cheekbones. “Right now, I am holding my whole world in my hands. And you will  _ always  _ be my world, Alfred, whether I am a father or not.”

 

Alfred looked at him as though he could not find the words to respond, his blue eyes shining with unshed tears. 

 

“I don’t know what I’ve ever done to deserve you, Edward,” he said, his voice sounding a little choked. 

Edward felt himself blushing, and he ducked his head. 

“I could say exactly the same about you,” he responded quietly.

Alfred ducked his head too, before leaning in to bury his face against Edward’s chest again. Edward wound his arms around him, and the two of them lapsed into a comfortable silence again, Edward just revelling in the familiar warmth of Alfred’s body against his. 

 

“I hope I didn’t pull you away from anything too important at work,” Alfred mused after a few moments.

“I wouldn’t really know what was happening at work, to be honest, my mind has been full of nothing but you the past few days,” Edward admitted a little guiltily. “Don’t worry, though, I got somebody to cover for me.” 

 

He felt Alfred’s grin against his chest. “You’re lucky Palmerston is so fond of you, Edward.” 

Edward grinned against his hair. “So I’ve been told.” 

 

Alfred broke away from his chest, looking up at his face as though drinking him in. “How long can you stay?”, he asked quietly, leaning forwards to press a kiss to the tip of Edward’s nose. 

“I should think another hour or so,” he responded, stroking his thumb across the back of Alfred’s hand. 

 

Alfred nodded, lapsing into silence for a moment before speaking again. “Would you read to me, then?” 

 

Slightly taken aback, Edward nodded. “I’ll read whatever you want me to, my darling.” 

Alfred hummed contentedly, and stood up, wandering over towards the well-stocked bookshelves. After a few moments, he came back, clutching a copy of  _ Oliver Twist _ . 

Edward grinned, knowing how much Alfred loved Dickens’s works. 

“Little bit predictable, aren’t you?” he teased. 

Alfred stuck out his tongue at him. “I can’t help it if he’s a wonderful writer, alright?”

Edward reached for it, and Alfred handed it to him, settling down with his head against Edward’s chest. 

Edward wrapped his arms around him, and began to read. 

_ ‘Among other public buildings in a certain town, which for many reasons it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning, and to which I will assign no fictitious name, there is one anciently common to most towns, great or small: to wit, a workhouse…’ _

 

Alfred closed his eyes as he listened, and Edward let the words of the story wash over him as he spoke them, focusing less on the actual narrative and more on the warm and comforting feeling of having the man he loved back in his arms again.

 

The chiming of the grandfather clock in the corner made both of them jump a little, bringing them abruptly back to the present. 

Alfred sighed. “I think that probably means you should get going.” 

Edward sighed in return. “I know.” 

He kissed the top of Alfred’s head, and closed the book, handing it back to Alfred and reluctantly extricating himself from his embrace. 

 

“Thank you for reading to me,” Alfred said. “And for coming here on such short notice.”

 

Edward laughed. “I think we both know that Her Majesty herself wouldn’t have been able to keep me away once your letter arrived.” 

 

Alfred smiled. Edward leaned in, kissing him softly, and pulled back a little abruptly as a thought suddenly came to him. 

Alfred pouted at him. “Come back here, Edward, where are you going so quickly?”

“I just had an idea,” Edward explained. “I know you’ve had a difficult few days - and I know that was largely my fault,” he finished in a mumble, shamefaced. 

Alfred reached a hand up to stroke his face reassuringly. “Edward…”

“I’d like to try and make up for it by treating you,” Edward continued. “Can I take you out for dinner after work tomorrow night, my darling? You could come and meet me at the House?”

Alfred beamed at him. “I would love that,” he whispered, leaning in slightly to brush his nose against Edward’s. 

Edward smiled back, filled with relief that this time they would only be separated for one day. 

“Good. I will see you tomorrow night, then. I love you,” he said, pressing a lingering kiss against Alfred’s forehead.

“I love you, too,” Alfred whispered back.

  
  


* * *

 

 

The following evening saw Alfred leaning against the railing outside the Houses of Parliament as he waited for Edward to appear. 

He was immensely relieved that he and Edward seemed to have smoothed things over between them, but he still felt a little uneasy and out of place as silver-haired Tories streamed out of the doors, tipping their hats at him in greeting as they passed. This was really much more Edward’s natural habitat than his. 

God, where  _ was  _ Edward? What was taking him so long? 

 

Suddenly, he heard the beautiful, familiar sound of Edward’s laugh, and breathed a sigh of relief, standing up straight. A split second later, he frowned as the thought occurred to him: who was Edward laughing so happily with? 

His eyes narrowed as Edward finally walked out of the building, deep in animated conversation with a tall and unfamiliar man, handsome with raven-black hair. 

 

“I thought perhaps Sir John was going to strike him! The things he was saying!” the stranger was saying. 

“Honestly, between you and me - the way Palmerston talks sometimes, I would be quite surprised if he has managed to get this far without once having anybody strike him,” Edward chortled. 

 

He caught sight of Alfred, and his whole face lit up. “Alfred!” he said joyfully, sounding for all the world as though it was a surprise to see him there, despite the fact they had arranged to meet. 

As Edward approached him eagerly, the stranger trailed after him, looking at Alfred curiously. Alfred looked him up and down, taking the measure of this man who had made Edward laugh. 

 

“I don’t believe I have had the pleasure?” he said pointedly, in his best politely distant courtier voice. 

“Oh, of course,” Edward said, sounding a little frazzled. “Lord Alfred, this is my new friend, James Grey - he works for Sir John Russell as his Private Secretary, as I did for Sir Robert. Grey, this is Lord Alfred Paget, of Her Majesty’s Guard - my dearest friend.” 

 

Grey extended his hand. “The pleasure is all mine, Lord Alfred. Any friend of Edward Drummond’s is a friend of mine.” 

Alfred shook his hand reluctantly, trying to force a polite smile to his face. “Likewise.” 

 

“So what brings you to the House this evening, Lord Alfred? Dreadfully tedious here, eh, Drummond? I would have thought anyone who did not have to work here would want to stay well away!”

 

Alfred shifted his stance slightly, attempting to make himself look a little taller and more intimidating. Was this man insinuating that he should leave?

 

“Lord Alfred and I had plans to meet for dinner this evening,” Edward explained, still beaming. 

“Well I must say, I’m feeling rather famished myself,” Grey responded. “Dinner and perhaps a glass of port sounds like an excellent idea to me! You don’t mind if I join you, gentlemen?” 

 

Alfred’s jaw fell open slightly; yes, yes as a matter of fact he did mind! He had missed Edward so much over the past few days, he had been so looking forward to this time alone with him. This dinner was supposed to be Edward’s treat for him - people could not just start inviting themselves along, and certainly not when they made Edward laugh like that! The  _ audacity  _ of this man!

 

He looked at Edward expectantly. This man was  _ his  _ friend - though he wasn’t convinced that was all he wanted from Edward - and so it should be Edward’s responsibility to tell him that unfortunately, no, he could not just tag along wherever and whenever he wanted. 

Edward shot a helpless glance back at Alfred, and Alfred understood immediately what he was trying to silently communicate. It might be a little difficult to explain to this man how much they had been longing to have some time alone together, how much they had been missing each other. 

Alfred frowned at him, and turned around to speak to Grey - but Edward spoke first. 

 

“I don’t see why not!”, he said, his voice overly bright. Alfred recognised the familiar edge of anxiety. “The more the merrier. You are most welcome to join us, Grey.” 

 

“Excellent!” Grey responded, clapping a hand on Edward’s shoulder familiarly. Alfred felt his fists clench involuntarily. “Perhaps Lord Alfred could lead the way?”

 

“Absolutely,” Alfred responded through gritted teeth, shooting a glare at Edward, who gave him the tiniest of shrugs, guilt written across his beautiful face. 

 

He turned and stalked ahead of them, hearing Grey’s voice behind him as he struck up their conversation again where he and Edward had left off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos absolutely make my day - it's all down to the beautiful support I've received that this fic is still going! And I PROMISE I'll do my best to update quickly, at least over the next few weeks! <3 <3 xxx


	20. Pettiness, Pride and Puzzle Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Alfred were supposed to have a romantic night to themselves - so Alfred is not particularly amused that Edward has once again put his foot in his mouth and invited a third person along to dinner with them. Particularly when said person seems so very fond of Edward....
> 
> Meanwhile, Florence is getting lonely, left alone with her thoughts....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty short chapter by my standards - it's basically a transition chapter leading up to the next few chapters, which may be a bit of a rollercoaster....
> 
> I'm sorry to write the boys arguing, but sometimes it's a bit of an inevitability with their vastly different personalities and their intensely stressful circumstances! Don't worry too much though, I promise they can never stay angry with each other for very long!
> 
> Nothing left to say except enjoy Chapter 20!

“So, do you find yourself getting used to Palmerston yet, Drummond?” Grey asked, grinning. “You know, despite the insanity?”

“I think I am getting used to him, yes,” Edward responded, smiling back at him, seemingly oblivious to Alfred clenching his fist under the tablecloth next to him. “In fact, truth be told, I believe I am actually growing rather fond of him and his devil-may-care ways - I find it refreshing, in a way! Although of course, I still miss Sir Robert from time to time; I feel incredibly grateful to have had him as a mentor.” 

“Well, I’m not surprised you miss him, Drummond,” Grey replied. “I know that you don’t like to talk about what happened on the night of the Corn Law Repeal” (Alfred flinched violently as memories of that night came flooding back to him at these words, and Edward, shooting a worried look at him, brushed his hand gently and reassuringly underneath the tablecloth), “and so I won’t harp on about it too much, but I imagine there are few things that can make you feel more connected to another man than saving his life! Sir Robert must indeed be very important to you!”

Edward gave a somewhat forced and uncomfortable laugh, and blushed a deep scarlet. “Yes, well,” he said, clearly eager to move away from that particular topic, “that’s enough about me! How have you been going with Russell? I’ve been meaning to ask you what you actually think about that bill he’s trying to push though…”

Grey rolled his eyes slightly, grinning. “Well now, that’s a bit of a long story….”

As Grey launched into his story about Russell, with Edward listening attentively, Alfred sat silently watching him, trying to take the measure of this stranger who Edward seemed so fond of. 

James Grey seemed a somewhat unlikely man for Edward to have befriended, Alfred mused. Where Edward was always quiet, modest and thoughtful, this man seemed to be loud and talkative, with a sarcastic sense of humour that reminded him a little of his brother George - though it seemed to him that George was not nearly so obnoxious or  arrogant as this James Grey. He appeared to be remarkably sure of himself, Alfred thought wryly - particularly for a man who had not even been invited to attend this dinner in the first place, and who had had to worm his way in. 

Perhaps he was simply being ridiculously harsh and petty towards somebody he did not even know? 

_ No _ , he thought, as Grey shot another grin in Edward’s direction, and Edward sniggered at whatever it was Grey had just said. On second thought, he was  _ not  _ being too harsh. He was simply judging what he saw in front of him - a smug, insufferable man, delighted with his own handsomeness and wit, utterly convinced that it was his right to swan in from out of nowhere and make  _ his _ Edward laugh. 

Alfred turned slightly to look at Edward, to gauge his reaction to this infuriating intruder. Feeling his gaze, Edward glanced at him, a familiar apologetic expression on his face. Edward leaned in towards him a little, evidently as close as he dared to while they were in company, so that his warm arm brushed reassuringly against Alfred’s. Instinctively, Alfred leaned in towards him slightly in return - but Edward, he noticed, had turned his face back towards Grey attentively, as though concerned about seeming rude. Watching his expression, Alfred knew Edward well enough to understand that his attentiveness was not feigned. He struggled to hold back a scowl. 

His attention was caught suddenly by the sound of his own name.

“So tell me, Lord Alfred,” Grey said, irritatingly jovial, “how is it that you and Drummond here know each other? How did you become such good friends?”

Alfred froze. Did this man suspect anything about their relationship? Was this a question designed to test them? Was Grey trying to entrap them - or worse, was he like them, and trying to gauge how strong their connection was so that he could more easily get between them?  Or perhaps, Alfred reminded himself, Grey really  _ was  _ completely ignorant of what they were to each other, and there was no extra weight to his words at all. He darted a sideways glance at Edward as Edward looked back at him, panic written across his face. He sighed internally. He really did have to teach his love how to mask his feelings one of his days - despite being a politician, the man was utterly hopeless. Alfred knew that look - Edward looked like he was on the brink of blurting out something foolish purely to fill the somewhat uncomfortable silence. Hastily, he spoke up to prevent Edward from saying something both of them might regret later.

“Drummond and I met while he was working for Sir Robert; he used to come to the Palace often, bringing papers for Her Majesty from the Prime Minister. I soon found he was very useful when I needed a cheroot, given that he always had his tinderbox with him.” Alfred tried hard to keep his voice steady and his expression neutral as the memory came back to him; the flare of warmth in his chest as Edward had first given him that beautiful smile which he reserved only for him, his own thrill of excitement and nerves as he had daringly told Edward how well-equipped he was, hoping he would understand the true meaning behind his words. The shiver he had felt when Edward had responded to his words by looking up at him from underneath his eyelashes, smouldering at him with those gorgeous dark eyes as if to say that they two alone were sharing a delicious secret. He felt Edward shifting next to him, brushing against him slightly, and knew immediately that he too was thinking about that wonderful evening on the balcony. He ached to seize Edward by the lapels of his coat and kiss him senseless. Struggling against this urge, he leaned a little further away from the man he loved, putting some more distance between them so that he had a better chance of keeping himself under control. When he spoke up again, he tried to make his voice as dispassionate as possible. “Anyway, it soon became evident that Drummond was not only useful to have around when one needed a cheroot, but intelligent, kind, brave, and decent as well. He is a remarkable man, and the best friend anyone could ask for.” Next to him, Edward blushed deeply, fixing his gaze determinedly on his lap as though he did not trust himself to look at Alfred without kissing him. 

“Well, that’s certainly true enough,” Grey said. “Drummond is indeed a remarkable man, and a wonderful friend.” He shot a smile at Edward across the table. Alfred clenched his fists tightly under the table again. Was this man  _ really  _ going to just sit there and blatantly flirt with Edward, right in front of him? On a night that was supposed to be Edward’s special treat for  _ him _ ? Who did this James Grey think he was? He wasn’t prepared to sit there and quietly accept this behaviour any longer. 

Alfred stood up abruptly, trying his utmost to keep his expression neutral despite the fact that his hands were trembling slightly with rage. “This really has been a  _ most  _ enjoyable evening,” he said in his best courtier’s voice, injecting as much icy sarcasm into his tone as possible, “but I fear we may have to cut it short a little. Drummond and I have some rather urgent business to discuss, I’m afraid -  _ private  _ matters between Palmerston and Her Majesty the Queen. I do apologise, but the information is of a somewhat sensitive nature, and as it is specifically Drummond and myself that have been entrusted with it….”

Grey looked somewhat taken aback at Alfred suddenly standing, and the coldness in his voice. “No, no, Lord Alfred, there is no need to apologise. I understand, sometimes business must take precedence.”  “Of course you do, Mr Grey,” Alfred responded in a tone of mock politeness. “And I’m sure that you too will be privy to all the most sensitive and important government information soon enough, once you have proved yourself to be as experienced and valuable a politician as Drummond here.” Grey flushed slightly at this, and Alfred felt a thrill of smug satisfaction even as he saw Edward shoot him a dark look out of the corner of his eye. 

‘I….thank you, Lord Alfred,” Grey said hesitantly, sounding as though he was not quite sure how to respond. “I apologise for our somewhat hasty departure, Grey,” Edward said sheepishly, as though he was also trying to apologise for Alfred’s rudeness. “It was good to have you with us this evening. I shall see you at the House tomorrow.” “Likewise,” Grey responded. 

“Drummond….” Alfred said, barely containing his impatience at this point. Edward gave a small sigh. “I’m coming.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was perhaps lucky that the house George had given them was only a few minutes’ walk from the restaurant, for Alfred found himself rather desperate to vent some of his frustration with Edward, which he could not properly do in a public setting. He walked at a brisk pace ahead of Edward, seething silently to himself about the situation Edward had put them in. Edward walked silently behind him, keeping a little distance between them. Alfred could sense both wariness and irritation coming from Edward in return, and he sighed to himself. This was  _ really  _ not how he had intended their evening to go. 

Reaching the house, Alfred opened the front door and stood aside wordlessly, allowing Edward to enter ahead of him. Edward stalked in a little haughtily, without thanking him for holding the door and without meeting his eyes. As soon as Edward was inside, Alfred slammed the door shut, leaning against it as he turned to face him, arms folded and eyes narrowed.

“What were you  _ thinking _ tonight, Edward?”

“What was  _ I  _ thinking?”, Edward responded indignantly. “What were  _ you  _ thinking, Alfred?! Aren’t you supposed to be an expert at diplomacy! You were being ridiculously rude to my friend!”

“Oh dear, how my heart bleeds for him,” Alfred responded before he could stop himself.

“Alfred,” Edward snapped, glaring at him. Alfred was caught off-guard for a moment as a quiver of heat ran through him. Edward was rarely ever angry, least of all with him. It was not often that he saw those dark eyes flashing fire at him, or that jaw set so firmly. “James Grey has given me excellent advice and support, and he has very kindly offered me his friendship -”

“Oh, is  _ that  _ what he’s offering you!” 

Edward stared at him, evidently caught off-guard. “What on earth is  _ that  _ supposed to mean, Alfred?”

Alfred let out a hollow, incredulous laugh. “Oh for god’s sake, Edward, open your eyes!! The man was all over you with all his little stories, and his inside jokes, making you  _ laugh _ ....” He was trying and failing to keep the bitterness and hurt out of his voice, and he angrily dashed a tear away as he spoke.

“Alfred….” Edward looked bewildered now. “What are you talking about? You’re being utterly ridiculous. Grey is just a friend” - Alfred scoffed derisively, too indignant for words - “He  _ is _ !”, Edward insisted. “That’s all I want from him, and that’s all he wants from me, too! He doesn’t even  _ know _ about my....my leanings,” he continued, looking unsure as he searched for the word, “and even if he did, I don’t believe he would be interested in me in  _ that _ way!” Alfred raised an eyebrow disbelievingly, and Edward sighed, rubbing a hand across his forehead in exasperation. “Alfred, I thank God every single day that I am lucky enough to have you loving me, but you cannot just assume that  _ everyone  _ is going to fall in love. I mean, it’s only me….

Alfred stared at him incredulously. Was Edward  _ really  _ that blind? Acting on instinct, he reached out and grabbed Edward’s arm firmly, steering him over towards the fireplace in the living room.

“Alfred, what....?,” Edward asked, bewildered.

Impatiently, Alfred took his chin in his hand, tilting Edward’s face up so that he was forced to look at his own reflection in the mirror above the fireplace.

“Look in that mirror, Edward,” Alfred whispered in his ear, feeling another quiver of heat at the sudden closeness of their bodies. “What do you see?”

Edward smiled a little. “I see a ridiculously beautiful man,” he murmured. “And I can also see myself.” 

Alfred swallowed hard, feeling his heart turn over as the last residues of his anger seemed to melt away. Edward closed his eyes and leaned back against him gently, and Alfred instinctively curled his arms around his waist. 

“If you  _ really  _ believe that nobody except for me would fall in love with you, then you’re more of an idiot than I thought,” Alfred whispered, leaning up a little to press a kiss to Edward’s neck. Edward grinned contentedly, eyes still closed. “I’m sorry I shouted at you,” Alfred murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to Edward’s earlobe this time. “I’m still not convinced that he doesn’t adore you - he’d have to be blind not to - but of course I trust that you don’t reciprocate. It was just….difficult, tonight. You told me you were going to take me out for dinner as a treat, and I’ve missed you so much over the past few days - I wasn’t expecting to have to share you.” 

Edward sighed. “I’m sorry, too,” he responded, taking Alfred’s hand gently and twining their fingers together, as Alfred rested his chin on his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you. You  _ were  _ being rude, and you shouldn’t have, but I know you were frustrated that he was there. I just....panicked, when he asked if he could come.” 

Alfred rolled his eyes slightly. “I know you did.” 

Edward elbowed him lightly. “Well, I couldn’t exactly tell him that he couldn’t come because I was planning to take you to bed straight afterwards, now could I?” Alfred grinned, moving his hand slowly to rest on Edward’s upper thigh. “Were you, indeed?” 

Edward turned around suddenly, enfolding Alfred in his arms and scanning his face carefully. “Do you forgive me for my foolishness, my love?” 

Alfred reached up to cup Edward’s face in his hands gently. “Well, it’s not the first time you’ve spoken before thinking, and I’m sure it won’t be the last, either,” he said, grinning slightly. “But the problem is that you make it rather difficult  _ not  _ to forgive you, Edward. I can’t seem to stay angry at you for very long, no matter how hard I try. It’s infuriating, really.” 

Edward chuckled quietly, and Alfred leaned forward a little to press their foreheads together. 

“Do you forgive  _ me  _ for being rude to your friend?” 

Edward sighed a little. “Do you think you could  _ try  _ to be a bit more civil the next time you see him? I swear, he’s a good man, you’d see that if you just gave him a chance.”

“I suppose I could  _ try _ , if it will really make you happy, Edward,” Alfred huffed grudgingly. “But if he lays even one hand on you, then I’m sorry, but I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

Edward rolled his eyes. “Alfred….” 

“I don’t like sharing you, Edward, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I already have to share you with your wife, and I have done my best not to complain about that, because I understand and accept why you married her” - he swallowed, struggling once again to keep the bitterness from his voice, as Edward grimaced and pressed an apologetic kiss to his nose - “but I’d really rather not have to share you with anyone else, if it can be avoided.” 

“Speaking of which,” Edward whispered, rubbing his nose against Alfred’s gently, causing Alfred to close his eyes and grin in contentment as his heart soared, “can you spare me for just a few moments? I need to write a letter quickly.”

“Why?,” Alfred asked, pouting slightly as he opened his eyes again. 

“Well, it seems to me that I still owe you some pampering this evening,” Edward responded, grinning, “and so I shall need to write to my wife, giving her at least a somewhat plausible reason as to why I shall not be returning home all night.” 

“All night?,” Alfred whispered, feeling a delicious heat curling through his stomach. 

Edward traced his thumb slowly across Alfred’s lips, grinning as he felt him shiver. “All night,” he murmured, leaning in.

 

* * *

Florence lay back against the cushions on her armchair, her feet propped up on a stool in front of her, one hand on the pages of her open book, the other resting on her still-flat stomach. 

It was strange, but sometimes she still struggled to wrap her mind around the notion that there was a whole new life growing inside of her. The doctor had told her that it was still early days, and thus she would not be able to feel any sign of the baby’s presence yet. Yet, she could have sworn that sometimes, if she closed her eyes and focused hard enough, she could feel a little stirring, a little flutter. Perhaps, she thought sadly, it was nothing but imagination and wishful thinking. With Edward working such late hours, and the awkward distance between them which had still not thawed entirely, she often felt a little lonelier than she would care to admit these days. If she was honest with herself, the prospect of having constant warm and loving company was what excited her most about becoming a mother. 

A knock on the living room door interrupted her reverie. “Come in,” she called, a little disoriented as she tried to shake off her melancholy thoughts. 

“Letter for you from Mr Drummond, my lady,” announced Gerson the butler as he entered the room, smiling kindly at her as he proffered it.  Florence frowned slightly, a little puzzled. What did Edward have to say to her now? 

“Thank you, Gerson,” she murmured, reaching out to take it from him. He bowed as he retreated from the room again, giving her some privacy to peruse the letter.

_ Dear Florence, _

_ I am sorry to have to do this, but Palmerston and Russell continue to be at loggerheads, and it seems the argument will not be abating any time soon. It appears that the House will most likely be sitting until the small hours of the morning. I shall make do with sleeping on the benches here, I would not wish to disturb you by coming in at an ungodly hour. I shall see you tomorrow. _

_ Take care of yourself, and our baby.  _

_ Sleep well, _

_ Edward _

 

Florence frowned, mouthing the words to herself as she reread Edward’s letter, wondering if she was understanding it right. She paused for a moment, thinking, and then abruptly stood up from her armchair, walking over to her writing desk in the parlour. 

The letter that Edward had left for her that morning, the one that had been waiting for her when she awoke, was lying where she had left it on the writing desk. Chewing on her lip absentmindedly, she opened the earlier letter and reread it. Perhaps she had remembered its contents wrongly?

_ Dear Florence, _

_ I hope you slept well. I have had to slip out for work early, but I just wanted to let you know that you do not need to wait for me for dinner this evening. Palmerston has informed me that we should be finishing a little earlier than usual at the House, as there is quite a light agenda today. I have already made plans to meet up for dinner in town with Lord Alfred, as we have much business between Palmerston and Her Majesty to discuss. Enjoy your day; I shall see you this evening after my dinner with Lord Alfred. _

_ Take care of yourself, and our baby. _

_ Edward _

Florence put both of Edward’s letters side by side, frowning to herself as she reread each. How could it be that Edward was both sleeping at the House because the session was running so late,  _ and  _ meeting with Lord Alfred for dinner because it was finishing so early? Perhaps he had had to cancel his dinner with Lord Alfred? But then, surely he would have mentioned that in his second letter? Besides which, it seemed odd that one moment the House would be finishing early, and the next, running all night long. 

Florence sighed, rubbing her forehead absentmindedly as she stared at the two conflicting letters in front of her, trying to ignore the gnawing sensation of doubt in her stomach. Obviously, Edward would not lie to her, it was ridiculous to jump to such a conclusion. Perhaps, in her melancholy state, tired of being cooped up alone in the house, she was overthinking things again, reading into things that were not there? Yes, that was probably all it was. 

Still, there was something strange about the two letters. She was probably just being paranoid, but she felt almost as if there was a puzzle in front of her that she could not solve, that was frustratingly eluding her grasp. There were still too many pieces missing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos and comments make me incredibly happy and fuel me to keep writing on and on about these boys <3 <3 <3 
> 
> And now, I recommend that you buckle in, because it might be a bit of a fast ride from here on in!


	21. A Winter's Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred and Edward both have some important conversations, including one with each other.
> 
> Meanwhile, Florence's pregnancy becomes public knowledge at court - but all is not well between the Drummonds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaargh sorry this took so long!! January was crazy assignment month!
> 
> But I'm back now with a big chapter and another dramatic turning point in the story - look out for more NAR and hopefully even a new Drumfred AU heading your way, because February will be my writing month!
> 
> Buckle in, incoming draaaaama ahead! Enjoy the ride....
> 
> Side Note: You can probably start making a game with my chapter titles...count the musical theatre references. I can't resist it so I promise you I am not done....

**THREE MONTHS LATER - 30TH DECEMBER, 1846**

 

“And what will you be wearing to the New Year’s Ball tomorrow evening, Miss Coke?,” Harriet asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she grinned at Wilhemina.

 

“Oh, I have ordered a new gown as you suggested, in pale blue silk,” Wilhemina responded.

 

“From Paris, I presume?,” Alfred asked, smiling across at her from where he was standing leaning against the mantelpiece next to Cecilia Wyndham.

 

“Of course from Paris, Lord Alfred!,” she responded, mock indignantly. “I take my fashion advice only from the best!”

 

“I presume you are referring to me and not Harriet when you say ‘the best’,” Alfred answered, smirking in Harriet’s direction.

 

Harriet rolled her eyes back at him. “Well, that colour will certainly bring out your eyes, Miss Coke,” Harriet smiled. “You’ll look stunning, won’t she, Alfred?”

 

“A vision,” Alfred agreed, smiling.

 

“I’m sure Sir John Stanhope will appreciate it,” said Harriet, grinning slyly.

 

Wilhemina blushed prettily. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she responded, smiling to herself slightly.

 

“Oh, come now, Miss Coke,” Harriet chided lightly. “Anyone can see that you’re in love with the man, I believe you have been since the first time you laid eyes on him! And what’s more,” she continued, leaning forwards a little, conspiratorial, “I am almost certain that he is just as in love with you.”

 

Wilhemina blushed deeper, tears of happiness springing to her eyes. Alfred smiled to himself, feeling warm affection for the woman who had helped him so much when he needed it, who had never judged him or condemned him or even resented the fact that he could not return her feelings. Thank God, he thought to himself, that she might finally get the happiness she so deserved.

  
  


“And what about you, Harriet?” Wilhemina asked quietly, beaming.  How is everything regarding you and His Highness Prince Ernest?”

 

Harriet grinned, looking down. “Alright, now I’m sure that _I_ don’t know what _you_ mean,” she responded.

 

“Oh come, now, Harriet,” Alfred piped up smugly. “You don’t honestly think you’re fooling us? His Highness Prince Ernest is _besotted_ with you, he always has been - and rightfully so! And the feeling is hardly unreciprocated, is it?” He leaned in towards Cecilia, grinning mischievously as Harriet blushed deeply. “I remember the day when Harriet here was sitting and letting His Highness paint her - and honestly, if you could have seen the way they were _looking_ at each other, I believe the roof could have fallen in and….”

Alfred trailed off as he turned to look at Cecilia, and caught a glimpse of the expression on her face.

In that moment, everything shifted.

 

She was not looking at him, but staring at Harriet as though there was nobody else in the room. There was a forlorn longing written across her beautiful face. The hurt in her green eyes told him plainly that she was not much amused by the topic of Harriet and His Highness Prince Ernest.

Alfred knew that look. He was fairly certain he used to have that look on his face every single time he had looked at Edward, back before Edward had changed his life forever by kissing him, by telling him that he loved him.

 

But Harriet was not going to tell Cecilia that she loved her, he realised, feeling a wave of pity and empathy course through him. Harriet was utterly oblivious to the way Cecilia was staring at her. Besides which, Harriet was already deeply in love with a man. She was sweet and kind and she was his oldest friend, but Alfred doubted it would even occur to Harriet that Cecilia might love her.

And judging from the look on Cecilia’s face, she _knew_ full well that Harriet was never going to tell her she loved her. He had a sudden vivid memory of what Cecilia had said to him, the very first time they had met, when he had instinctively trusted her enough to confess how much he was hurting. _I’ve often thought myself to be infatuated_ , she had said quietly. _But my feelings are almost never returned._

He thought back to the men he had gazed at, fawned over and fantasised about, in the days before he had met Edward, which seemed so hazy now in his memory. There had been a few whom he had thought himself besotted with, he had even wondered on occasion if he was falling in love - although of course he knew now that what he had felt for those men was laughably insignificant, compared to the love he felt whenever he saw Edward, which _still_ took him by surprise sometimes, making his breath hitch in his chest. His quickly passing infatuations with those men had almost always been futile, anyway - like most men, they were ‘normal,’ and had eyes only for beautiful women.

 

He bit the inside of his lip, cursing himself. Even though he had not known Cecilia for very long, he considered her one of his closest friends, and he thought - or at least he hoped - that she felt the same way about him. But what kind of friend was he, if he had somehow failed to notice the way Cecilia felt about Harriet, failed to notice how she was hurting, even when it was written so clearly across her face? Evidently, he had been getting too wrapped up in himself, thinking and worrying about Edward too much to see what had been right in front of him all along. Perhaps if he had been a little more observant, he told himself, feeling another prickle of shame, he might have avoided adding to Cecilia’s pain by prattling about Harriet’s adoration for Prince Ernest like an insensitive buffoon. After all, he knew all too well how it felt to hear people chattering obliviously about Edward and his wife.

 

“So, did you ladies hear what Her Majesty and Lord Palmerston are arguing about now? I really thought she might explode with rage at him this time!”

He winced a little, wondering if his sudden desperation to change the topic was absurdly obvious. Harriet was tilting her head at him slightly, raising one eyebrow, but Wilhemina did not seem to have noticed anything peculiar.

“No, I haven’t heard, what did Lord Palmerston say this time?,” she asked, a scandalised look on her face. “Honestly, I often wonder how he _dares_ be so contrary when talking to Her Majesty, I should not want to get on her bad side for the world!”

 

He began filling them in animatedly on what had passed between Palmerston and the Queen, hoping he could ease some of Cecilia’s tension, a talent he prided himself on. Her posture did seem to have relaxed somewhat, although she still did not look particularly happy. He kept talking, striving to make Cecilia laugh as she had often done for him. Harriet and Wilhemina were soon giggling, but the most he seemed able to get from Cecilia was a small grin. Perhaps he would just have to settle for that, for now.

 

Still filling the others in on the gossip about Palmerston, he stopped speaking abruptly when the Queen entered the room, looking somewhat peeved. He bowed, trying his best to keep a straight face, while the others curtseyed.

 

“Oh please, Lord Alfred, there is no need to stop entertaining so abruptly on my account,” Victoria said brusquely. “It’s obvious enough what it is that you have all been finding so amusing.”

 

“Ma’am, I -” Alfred started, a little sheepishly.

 

“I suppose if one looks at it from the right perspective, it _is_ amusing, how ridiculous that man is,” the Queen continued, shaking her head. “In fact, I actually came here to fetch you all for that very reason; he is on his way to meet with me, and I do not feel I can stomach meeting with him alone! It shouldn’t be too much of a hardship for you to accompany me, Lord Alfred,” she said, looking at him in a way which would brook no refusal, “I believe he is bringing your friend Mr Drummond along with him to help him with the diplomatic side of things. Although I fear poor Mr Drummond would have to be a miracle worker to make that man anywhere approaching tolerable!”

 

Alfred immediately felt his heart leap, and he struggled to keep himself from grinning broadly, sensing that Victoria was not much in the mood to appreciate it.

“Well, we should certainly be happy to accompany you, ma’am,” he said, bowing his head. “Drummond does have a knack for softening some of Lord Palmerston’s rougher edges” - he felt the familiar, odd swooping sensation in his stomach as he tried to speak about Edward in a neutral, formal way - “but nevertheless, there is still strength in numbers, isn’t that what they say?”

 

“Precisely my thoughts,” the Queen responded. “Let us go over to wait for him; the sooner we greet him, the sooner that wretched man can leave us alone.”

 

Alfred tried once more to stifle a grin; personally, he found Palmerston’s visits rather entertaining and enjoyable. Particularly when he happened to have Edward in tow, who usually spent meetings either gazing longingly across the room at him, making his heart thump loudly, or else squirming silently and awkwardly at the raised voices and the bluntness of his superior.

 

He turned to Cecilia, offering his arm and smiling at her. “Would you care to accompany me, Lady Cecilia?,” he asked gently.

 

She nodded, taking his proffered arm, though she still seemed a little distant.

 

“Are you alright?,” he asked her quietly, as Victoria, Wilhemina and Harriet walked ahead of them, out of earshot.

She turned to look at him, her green eyes wide. “Of course I’m alright, Lord Alfred,” she said brightly. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t be?”

He remembered the time when he had told her that a good courtier was a good liar, and she had immediately and playfully fired back by saying that clearly he was neither. It seemed to him now that she herself was certainly no better - but he held his tongue, not wishing to challenge her when she was clearly hurting.

“No, of course not,” he answered, conciliatory.

They lapsed into silence for a moment, before Alfred spoke up again.

“Are you looking forward to the Ball tomorrow evening, as we usher in the New Year? These balls tend to be rather splendid occasions.”

She shrugged noncommittally. “I’m sure it will be grand,” she murmured, without conviction.

Alfred scanned her face, still wondering how to distract her from her gloom.

“Well, I hope you will save at least one dance for me,” he said earnestly. “That is, assuming you are not utterly sick of me. After all, it is to be your first New Year’s Eve Ball at the Palace with us, and I should hate for you to feel at all underwhelmed or neglected.”

Cecilia looked at him, gratified surprise written across her face. “Lord Alfred, I….” she started, her voice sounding a little choked. She swallowed and took a steadying breath before speaking again. “I am not at all sick of you. You are very kind. And I should be very happy to save a dance for you.”

He grinned at her, thankful to see her smiling. “Good, then that’s settled,” he said in a businesslike tone. She laughed slightly. “Now,” he continued. “I do feel, most unfortunately, that we owe it to Her Majesty to help her deal with Lord Palmerston. Come, let us catch up to the others.”

 

She willingly kept up with him as he tugged her along gently, one hand resting reassuringly over hers on his arm, his heart lightened at the knowledge that he had helped her, even if only a little. He would gladly accept Edward’s unexpected visit to the Palace as his reward.

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you _sure_ you’re feeling well enough to come tonight, Florence?”  Edward asked for the fifth time. “It’s not too late if….”

 

“Oh, for goodness sake, Edward, we’re going to be running late if you don’t stop being so ridiculous!” Florence responded, her tone rather sharp.

Edward winced a little, and she seemed to notice, forcing a smile to her face in an obvious effort to soften.

“I promise you I am fine, Edward,” she continued, a little more gentle. “Being pregnant does not make me an invalid, you know.”

He ducked his head, shamefaced.

“If you are really feeling so concerned, then you might help me get up into the carriage,” she said. “I am rather heavier and more ungainly than I once was, as you have likely noticed.”

Edward swallowed and nodded, holding out his arm for her as she adjusted her cloak over her growing stomach.

 

It really was amazing to see Florence’s stomach swelling before his eyes, Edward thought to himself as they walked to the carriage together in a somewhat frosty and awkward silence. Even though it had now been over four months since they had learned of her pregnancy, he still could not quite wrap his mind around the fact that she was really growing his very own child, _their_ very own child. His heart seemed to swell with pride and love every time he thought about it.

He was indeed anxious to ensure that Florence rested at home as much as possible over the coming months - he did not want to risk _anything_ happening that might hurt either her or the baby.

 

But if he was being entirely honest with himself, that was not the only reason he had tried to dissuade her from coming along to this New Year’s Ball.

He was keenly aware that Alfred had not seen Florence at all since her pregnancy had started showing - many people at the ball would be taken aback, in fact. Florence’s pregnancy was not something the two of them had officially announced yet; tonight would be the first time it would become common knowledge at court. Edward had no doubt that people would be flocking towards them, men violently wringing his hand, women cooing over Florence’s stomach. And he _knew_ he would see icy pain in Alfred’s beautiful eyes as he watched it all unfold from afar, heartbreak that he would try to mask behind his usual smooth courtier’s veneer.

 

As if that was not enough, he did not know how he was going  to spend an entire evening pretending everything was fine between him and Florence. She was still being rather cold and distant with him. He could sense her unease, her hesitation whenever he held his hand out for her to take.

It was entirely his own fault, he told himself, guilt curling sickeningly in the pit of his stomach. He could still scarcely believe he had been so idiotic as to send Florence _two_ letters, one conflicting with the other.

 

He vividly remembered coming home, still giddy from his night spent with Alfred, only to find Florence waiting for him, holding two letters.

“Edward….I’m confused,” she had said to him, her forehead creased with concern as she handed him back both of his own letters.

Immediately, he had felt his heart sink like a stone, a sickening sense of panic roiling in his stomach as he skimmed over his own earlier words, making it difficult to think straight.

He had not been counting on Grey joining them for dinner, or on Alfred’s subsequent anger, and he had decided on a whim to stay with Alfred all night to make it up to him, writing a very hasty letter to Florence with the excuse that the House would be sitting all night long. He had completely forgotten, in the debacle following the dinner, that he had already _left_ a letter for Florence before he had even left for work, explaining that the House would be finishing early and that he would be having dinner with Lord Alfred.

 

“You slept at the House all night long, Edward?” Florence had asked him quietly.

Staring at her, he had nodded slowly, his heart pounding.

“But then, what happened with your dinner with Lord Alfred?” she had murmured, frowning. His brain seemed to have frozen in panic. He had felt his skin growing cold and clammy as he struggled to find a coherent response, knowing that he must have looked white as a sheet. “Did you cancel the dinner?,” she went on.

“Yes,” he had finally managed, leaping on the words that she had supplied for him. “Yes, I had to cancel my dinner with Lord Alfred.”

There had been a moment’s silence as she had looked at the letters in his hands, chewing on her lip as she thought. “It’s just that you didn’t say anything about cancelling it, Edward.”

“I….I forgot,” he had croaked, his mouth dry. He had swallowed, forcing himself to speak slowly and calmly. “I am sorry, Florence, people were shouting across the House, banging things, the Speaker calling for order, Palmerston was making demands, I barely had a minute to write the letter telling you that I would not be home. I am truly sorry that my haste and carelessness left you confused as to my whereabouts.”

He had held his breath, feeling Florence’s gaze on him as she scanned his face, as though searching for signs of his sincerity. He had found himself unable to meet her eyes.

 

“I see,” Florence had said eventually, breaking the silence. Chancing a glance at her, Edward had seen that there was no smile on her face. Head tilted slightly to the side, she was looking at him as though he was a puzzle she could not quite solve.

“I’m sorry,” he had said again, in a small voice.

Still she had not smiled. She had simply nodded, and said in a cool voice “Perhaps you should try to be a little more careful in future, Edward.”

Scanning her eyes over his face again, she had turned and walked away, putting an end to the conversation without giving him a chance to respond.

 

He had been left standing there, with nothing but his own burning sense of shame for company.

Florence had looked at him as though….as though she was no longer sure if she could trust him. His oldest friend no longer trusted him - and what hurt the most was that she was absolutely right not to. It was bad enough that he was deceiving and misleading her every day, but he usually tried to make an effort not to outright lie to her, at least. Now he had broken that rule.

Of course he knew that there was nothing in the world more important than Alfred’s safety; he could not risk the chance, however small, that Florence would betray Alfred, whether accidentally or on purpose. The thought that she might let her father know made him go cold. Besides, he did not think he would be able to bear the pain on her face if she were ever to discover his betrayal, her humiliation if she were to realise that it was only Alfred he loved, that it never had been and never would be her, or at least not in that way.

But when he thought of all his deceit, of the lies he told every day, he scarcely recognised himself. What would his beloved sister Rosalie have said to him if she could see how he was spending his days now, lying to Florence, betraying her trust?

 

As the carriage trundled towards the Palace now, Edward forced himself back to the present, chancing a quick glance sideways at Florence, who had pointedly averted her gaze from him, staring out the window. He felt like he had been tiptoeing around her ever since that day she had confronted him about his letters. He could sense that she was irritated at him, confused, hurt even.

He was fairly certain that she did not know precisely what was going on. But Florence had always been fiercely intelligent, and Edward was also sure that deep down, her instinct was telling her that, for whatever reason, he had lied.

Tentatively, he moved to rest a hand reassuringly on her arm. Immediately, she pulled it away from him. Edward blinked back tears, knowing that her coldness and rejection was no less than he deserved.

 _How_ were they going to get through their evening at the Palace?

 

* * *

 

 

“You really are a most _excellent_ dancer, Lady Cecilia,” Alfred commented as he twirled her gracefully around.

She grinned at him. “I believe it is easy to appear elegant when you are with the favoured dancing partner of Her Majesty herself!”

Alfred smiled, ducking his head slightly in mock bashfulness.

“So, how are you enjoying yourself?.” he asked her, gesturing at the lavishly decorated ballroom around them. “What do you make of your very first New Years’ Ball at the Palace, Lady Cecilia?”

The way her eyes flickered briefly across to Harriet - who was dancing with Prince Ernest and gazing at him as though nobody else in the ballroom existed for her - did not escape Alfred’s notice.

“It is certainly very grand,” she murmured, forcing her gaze back to Alfred. “I swear, I don’t think I have ever before seen so much champagne flowing so freely!”

Alfred chuckled. “We welcome the New Year in style here.”

“Clearly,” Cecilia said, smiling. “Thank you for saving a dance for me, Lord Alfred,” she said, looking at him earnestly.

“Sincerely, it was my pleasure,” he said, grinning as he bowed his head.

“I give you permission to abandon me for a little while, though,” she said, looking over his shoulder, “as your friend Mr Drummond has just arrived. With his wife - goodness….,” she trailed off, eyes widening slightly. “I didn’t know….”

 

Alfred felt his heart clench tightly in his chest as he turned.

There was his Edward, as beautiful as ever. And standing at his side, hand resting lightly on his arm, was _her._  

He’d known that Edward would be bringing her to the Ball, of course - not that they had discussed it much. They never discussed Edward’s wife if they could avoid it.

But Alfred had not seen Florence Drummond in months, having made it a habit to stay out of her way as much as he possibly could. He tried not to dwell on the fact that she was carrying Edward’s child, tried his hardest not to torment himself with images of her wrapped around Edward in bed as the two of them made that child. He knew thinking of such things would do nothing but make him sick with jealousy. It was a good way to drive himself insane.

And so he had been forcing the knowledge to the back of his mind for months, and it had not occurred to him, somehow, that she would be so big already, her pregnancy now completely unmistakeable. He stared at Edward, shock making him unable to conceal his pain for a moment. Edward looked back at him, his expression gentle, dark eyes apologetic.

Murmurs and whispers were coursing around the room like a rustle of silk as people began to look at Edward and Florence, reminding Alfred that Florence’s pregnancy had not yet been publicly announced.

He watched, nausea coiling in his stomach, as courtiers predictably began to flock towards the Drummonds. God, he hated thinking of Edward and his wife in that way, as though they were a team, an inseparable pair. But he supposed that was what they looked like to the rest of the world. As he watched men lining up to wring Edward’s hand, women surrounding Florence and fluttering and cooing over her stomach, he knew with another sickening jolt of pain that this would be the focus of court gossip over the next few days.

 

“Did you know, Lord Alfred?” Cecilia asked quietly. Alfred tore his eyes away from Edward and Florence to look down at her.

“Drummond is a very close friend,” he responded. “He told me their good news a little while ago.” He made an effort to smile, although he had a feeling it looked somewhat closer to a grimace.

Cecilia looked at him, concern on her face. “We should congratulate them properly,” she said gently. Alfred swallowed and nodded. He supposed he didn’t really have much choice. It would look peculiar if he refused to go up and congratulate his best friend on such an occasion.

Instinctively, it seemed, Cecilia tightened her hand slightly on his arm, as though giving him extra support. He looked at her, reminded suddenly of the way Miss Coke had helped him, on that horrific day when he had discovered Edward had been shot, and was hovering on the brink.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to shut out that memory. He supposed, if he had been able to get through that, then he could get through this.

He tried his best to smile gratefully at Cecilia, steeling himself as they approached Edward and his wife, forcing a glazed courtier’s smile to his face.

 

“Drummond,” Alfred said, as neutrally as he could,  holding out his hand to shake Edward’s, his heart pounding as usual at the merest touch of Edward’s skin. It always felt so artificial, using his last name and shaking his hand so formally, when he was used to having those warm hands tracing over his body. He drew his hand away quickly, not trusting himself to keep his emotions in check. He turned reluctantly to Florence, who extended her hand for him to kiss. He tried not to recoil from her as he bent over it, though his skin crawled with reluctance. “And Mrs Drummond,” he said tightly, trying to smile through gritted teeth.

He looked towards Cecilia for help, unwilling to converse with Florence for too long. “You have both met Lady Cecilia Wyndham?”

Edward bowed his head towards Cecilia, politely and a little awkwardly; he knew her in passing, and had heard a lot about her from Alfred. Florence gave a smile that looked somewhat forced, and held out a hand towards her.

“I am delighted to see that the two of you have such important news,” Cecilia said, smiling at Florence. “Lord Alfred and I just wanted to congratulate you, didn’t we?”

Alfred thought he might choke on his resentment if he opened his mouth to congratulate _her_. All he could do was nod, hoping the expression on his face could pass for a smile.

“Thank you, that’s very kind,” Florence said quietly. Edward looked at Alfred, clearly trying to apologise mutely with his eyes. Alfred looked down, afraid of what he might do if he held Edward’s gaze for too long.

There was a tense and awkward moment of silence. Usually, Alfred prided himself on making others feel at ease in moments like this, effortlessly breaking the tension with a joke. This time, though, he simply could not bring himself to do it. He could not think of anything remotely amusing about the situation.

 

He was saved the trouble of looking for something to say by the sudden arrival of Sir John Stanhope, the ambassador who had been courting Wilhemina for months.

Sir John bowed to Florence.

“Sir John Stanhope,” he introduced himself. “I wanted to congratulate the two of you, of course - but I was also wondering if you would permit me the honour of a dance, Mrs Drummond? That is, if you would not be put out, Drummond?” He looked up at Edward.

Edward looked a little taken aback.  “I should have no objection,” he responded, after a slightly awkward beat. “Florence, you are not too weary to dance with Sir John, are you?”

“No, Edward, I believe I actually came to a ball rather expecting to dance once or twice,” she replied somewhat testily.

Edward blushed slightly at her tone, and Alfred struggled not to glare at her. How _dare_ she embarrass Edward like that when he was only, as always, being too kind and thoughtful for his own good?

“Thank you, Sir John,” Florence said, turning back to him. “I should be honoured to dance with you.”

He smiled at her and held out his hand, his gaze flickering over to Wilhemina as he led Florence to the dance floor. Alfred followed his gaze, noticing that Wilhemina had been watching the entire exchange, her eyes now fixed on him in concern, and realised with a rush of gratitude that she must have noticed and understood his discomfort, and sent Sir John over to help by removing Florence from his vicinity.

 

Alfred smiled briefly at Wilhemina in acknowledgement, before turning back to Cecilia. “Lady Cecilia, I hope you will not find us abominably rude if Drummond and I go outside for a quick cheroot? I find myself sorely in need of one.” He could feel Edward’s eyes on him, but he was careful not to look back at him, focusing his gaze on Cecilia.

“Not _too_ abominably rude,” Cecilia answered, smiling slightly. “By all means take some fresh air if you need it, gentlemen - I shall be here.” Her eyes flickered over towards Harriet again momentarily, laughing with Prince Ernest.

 

“Balcony, Drummond?” Alfred asked as neutrally as he could, gesturing with his head as though it was no more than a casual invitation.

Edward nodded, quickly following him outside. Edward closed the door behind them immediately, but Alfred was all too aware that everyone inside could still see them. Which meant he could not give in to his urge to curl up in his lover’s arms, even though Edward’s hands were twitching as though longing to reach out and hold him.

As Alfred took out a cheroot, Edward took out his familiar trusty tinderbox with slightly shaking hands. Alfred closed his eyes for a moment as Edward lit his cheroot for him, feeling a little calmer already as he remembered the first time they had done this, the first time Edward had given him that beautiful smile. How far they had come since that evening. And yet there were still so many obstacles lying in their way.

 

“I’m sorry,” Edward whispered to him. “I love you so much. I never wanted to force all this on you, I _never_ want you to be in pain. You know that, don’t you?”

Alfred sighed, exhaling cheroot smoke slowly. “I do know that. I love you too, you know -  just in case you’ve missed all my subtle hints thus far.” Edward half-chuckled. “But I can’t pretend it isn’t….difficult, sometimes. Loving you.”

Edward’s face fell. “I’m sorry.”

Alfred’s heart went out to him immediately as he looked at the expression on his face.

“Oh Edward, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said hastily. “I just meant that the circumstances are difficult. But I would love you, no matter what the cost. Loving you comes as naturally to me as breathing.”

Edward made a choked sound, and reached out to Alfred as if to touch his cheek. A warning look from Alfred made him draw his hand back swiftly, glancing through the glass balcony doors at the courtiers inside the ballroom.

“I tried to encourage her to stay at home and rest tonight,” Edward whispered, his voice still somewhat choked. “But she insisted.”

Alfred took a long inhale of his cheroot, blowing the smoke out slowly, attempting to get his emotions under control before speaking again.

 

Before he could speak again, however, he was interrupted by the balcony door abruptly opening. Both of them stepped hastily further from each other, though they had not even been touching, terrified someone would recognise the intimacy of the conversation.

The man standing there was Sir John Stanhope, looking at Edward with concern written across his face.

“Drummond,” he said, sounding as though he had practically sprinted across the ballroom. “It’s your wife, she said she was feeling dizzy and unwell - she’s resting now, but she was asking for you....”

Edward’s face drained of colour, and he shot one quick apologetic glance at Alfred before running back inside the ballroom, hot on Stanhope’s heels.

Alfred tried to ignore the sharp stab of pain and jealousy as he noted how quickly Edward ran to her when she needed him. He took a moment to compose his face into a politely concerned courtier’s mask before following them. _Why_ did he have to love this man so much?

 

Florence was reclining on one of the luxurious embroidered sofa cushions, looking rather pale and clammy. There was already a small crowd of courtiers hovering around her by the time Edward reached her.

“I’m here, Florence, I’m right here,” Edward said, kneeling down in front of her and taking her hands. Seeing the affection and concern on his face as he looked at her, Alfred swallowed and stared down at the floor.

“What happened? Are you in pain? Do you think there might be something wrong with the baby?” Edward asked, panic in his voice.

Florence squeezed his hand, grimacing slightly.

“I am sure the baby is fine, Edward. I am just finding myself rather overwhelmed - the heat, the noise, this ridiculous corset….”

Edward nodded sympathetically.

“I am sorry, Edward, you did try to ask me if I was feeling well enough to come. I have just been feeling rather cooped up, and I didn’t want to miss this Ball, and I fear I was being rather stubborn….”

Edward chuckled a little. “You’ve been stubborn since you were five years old, Florence. I don’t expect anything less.”

She grinned at him, and he smiled back. Alfred kept his gaze fixed on the floor, blinking back the tears that were threatening to betray him. He knew that Edward had been friends with Florence for years, that the two of them shared many intimate memories from before Alfred had even met Edward. But he really didn’t need reminding of that, especially not now.

“I think perhaps you were right, Edward. It is lovely to see the Palace in such a festive mood, but I think I should like to go home and rest now.”

“Of course,” Edward said, holding out his hand towards her to help her up. She stumbled a little as she stood, her hand going immediately to her stomach, and Edward immediately wrapped an arm around her waist to support her. She leaned against him heavily as the two of them walked out of the ballroom together.

 

As they left, the orchestra struck up another waltz, and courtiers began twirling and chattering again as though nothing had happened. Alfred stood stock still, breathing heavily, his eyes still glazed with tears.

Edward was a caring husband, and he was going to be a wonderful father, he had a bright career and so much in his life. Sometimes it seemed that all Alfred could ever do was love him and wait patiently for him, alone. He loved him so much it hurt.

 

A uniformed server passed him, carrying a tray of champagne glasses, and Alfred grabbed one and downed it. It seemed to steady him a little, or at least distract him.

Perhaps champagne was the answer.

He quickly grabbed another from the next passing server and downed it, and then another. He felt the bubbles dancing on his tongue and in his stomach. He was starting to feel a tad dizzy, but the heavy weight in his chest that had lodged there at the sight of Edward comforting _her_ seemed to have lessened somewhat, so he supposed a little dizziness was worth it.

He could feel a few peoples’ eyes on him, judging him, perhaps wondering why Lord Alfred Paget, smooth, practised and diplomatic courtier, was suddenly behaving so recklessly. Well, let them stare. He found he was rather tired of constantly concerning himself with what other people thought.

 

He turned, holding a fresh champagne glass in his hand, searching for Cecilia in the crowd as he suddenly realised he had not seen her since going out onto the balcony.

He felt a rush of affection when he spotted her, hovering at the edge of the crowd. She, too, was downing a glass of champagne. There was pain written across her face again, and Alfred, following her gaze, was unsurprised to see that she was looking at Harriet, ensconced in a little alcove with Prince Ernest, hands intertwined and whispering together.

Looking back at Cecilia, Alfred watched as she took another glass of champagne, and quietly slipped into a little side chamber, alone and seemingly unnoticed by anyone except him.

Instinctively, he followed her, casually taking an entire champagne bottle from a table as he passed.

 

Closing the door behind him, he sat next to her on the sofa, refilling her glass for her. The two of them drank together in silence for a moment, staring into the fireplace. Alfred vaguely wondered if he might be causing some sort of scandal by slipping in here after Cecilia, without a chaperone - but again, he couldn’t bring himself to care very much.

 

“I’m sorry that you’re not enjoying the ball very much,” he said quietly.

“I’m fine, Lord Alfred,” she said in a choked voice, turning her face away from him and wiping at her eyes. “I just....needed a moment.”

“And you told me _I_ was a terrible liar,” he said, raising his eyebrows. She made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob, and Alfred covered her hand with his own, squeezing it.

He took another sip from his champagne before speaking again.

 

“You know, I was a little bewildered, all those months ago, when you told me that you have barely ever had a love that was reciprocated,” he said, slurring his words a little. “That didn’t make sense to me. You’re wonderful, you could have any man you wanted.” She grimaced slightly.

“But I understand now,” he went on gently. “I saw the way you were looking at Harriet.”

She looked at him sharply. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

“It’s alright, I promise you your secret is safe with me,” he said quietly. “I know how you feel, you see.”

“What...what do you mean?”, Cecilia asked, staring at him.

“The way you were looking at her,” he explained, “that’s how I used to look at....”

He sighed and set his champagne glass down. He supposed he was past the point of no return by now.

 

“Do you remember, many months ago, I confessed to you that I was deeply in love with somebody that was married?” he asked.

“Yes, I remember,” she said, crinkling her forehead slightly.

He swallowed, scarcely believing what he was about to say.

“Well, I never said it was a woman.”

He stared down at his lap, feeling her eyes on him.

“You are in love with a man,” she said quietly.

“Yes,” he whispered, shutting his eyes.

“Edward Drummond,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

Alfred looked up, finally meeting her eyes. “Yes,” he whispered again. “I….I had not realised I was quite so transparent.”

She shook her head. “Not as transparent as me, apparently. I only just pieced it together.”

He nodded sharply. “Before Edward, there were other men I believed myself infatuated with - nobody who came anywhere close to him, though. Most of them barely even noticed me. Too busy adoring women, marrying and starting families.”

His voice was bitter as he finished speaking, thinking of Florence’s growing stomach and the way Edward had run to her. Cecilia looked at him as though she knew exactly what he was thinking.

 

“But this time, with Mr Drummond....he loves you in return, doesn’t he?” she asked.

Alfred nodded again. “He does,” he answered, his voice shaking slightly. “And yet still it hurts....”

He took another sip of champagne, trying to blink back the tears burning in his eyes.

Cecilia squeezed his hand, and he squeezed hers in return, smiling gratefully at her as he tried to steady his breathing.

They sat together in silence for a moment, both crying, breathing hard.

 

Out of nowhere, a wild idea came into Alfred’s mind. Almost before he had fully registered the thought, he was opening his mouth to speak.

 

“Cecilia Wyndham,” he asked, setting his glass down and turning to her, taking both of her hands in his. “Will you marry me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me, I promise I'm not doing a Daisy....
> 
> Shout out to iwritetrash for being the first person (that I know of) to guess this storyline!
> 
> Next chapter, we'll see what Drums thinks about all this....See you all in Chapter 22!
> 
> As always, kudos and comments make my day - thank you to everyone who's still reading this despite my slow updates!<3 <3 <3 xxxx


	22. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred brings Edward some important news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry....I did warn you all!  
> You're going to have to buckle in over these next few chapters....

There was a moment of complete silence as Cecilia gaped at him, looking as though she was struggling to form coherent words. 

 

“ _ What  _ did you just say?”

 

“I said, ‘will you marry me?’” Alfred repeated, wondering for a split second if he had gone completely insane. 

 

“Are….are you mad, Lord Alfred?” Cecilia asked him shakily.

 

“Possibly,” he answered, grinning. “But I don’t think so.” 

 

“Why….why would you ask me that?” she demanded. “You’re already in love with someone else, you just told me that. And  _ I’m  _ in love with somebody else too....”

 

“Marriage does not necessarily equal love, Cecilia,” Alfred said earnestly. “My Edward is not in love with his wife. I don’t think I could bear to be trapped in a marriage like Edward’s, forever being forced to keep secrets and lie - if you could see the way he tortures himself with his guilt! I assume you do not want to be stuck in a marriage like that either.”

 

“No, I couldn’t stand that…” Cecilia conceded. 

 

“But if we were to get married, we would be so much happier than that! Because we understand each other, we can be truly honest with each other! You can even be brutally honest with me sometimes, I need it on occasion!” 

She chuckled slightly. 

 

“Look,” he said, gripping her hands and locking his gaze on hers. “You’re going to have to marry a man at some point, aren’t you?” She nodded, grimacing. 

“I don’t want you to be trapped in a nightmare marriage, Cecilia,” he said firmly. “I promise, if you marry me, I will keep you safe, and I will  _ never  _ put any pressure on you to love me, or to be….physically intimate with me” - he wrinkled his nose in distaste as he said it - “or to do  _ anything _ you did not want to do.” 

 

She smiled at him, looking slightly stunned, tears of emotion in her eyes. 

 

“I know that we have not known each other for a very long time, but I consider you one of my closest friends,” Alfred said gently. “Truly, I enjoy your company so much, Cecilia.” 

“I feel the same way,” she responded quietly. 

 

“Neither of us can marry the person we love,” he said, feeling a jolt of pain as he said it. “It hurts, but that is the simple truth. What we  _ can  _ do, though, is protect each other, and be there for each other. I know you are hurting, but believe me, I will do my best to make you happy.”

 

She looked at him, tears shining in her green eyes. 

 

“So, what do you say?” he asked quietly. “ _ Will  _ you marry me, Cecilia?”

 

There was another moment of silence as she stared at him. And then....

 

“Yes,” she said shakily, smiling at him. “Yes, Alfred Paget, I will marry you.”

 

Alfred beamed at her, unable to quite believe what was happening. He really was going to marry his friend, he was going to have a proper companion to talk to. He would not have to feel so lonely anymore. 

 

Simultaneously, both of them stood up rather unsteadily and hugged. Alfred felt the room seem to lurch slightly under his feet, and held onto Cecilia’s shoulders a little tighter to steady himself. 

Cecilia laughed slightly as she gripped his arms to support him. 

“Are you quite alright, Alfred?”

“I think perhaps I had a little too much champagne,” he responded, grinning sheepishly.

She laughed again. 

“Yes, I can feel it going to my head a little, too,” she said. “But marriage is something that requires a great deal of thought. I fear perhaps champagne has made us a little reckless.”

Alfred grimaced slightly. “You may have a point.” 

Cecilia grinned at him. “Perhaps it would be best if we both try to sober up a little, and we can discuss this further in the morning?” 

He nodded. “Sounds like an excellent idea to me.”

 

Alfred went to open the door, gesturing in front of him with his hand. “Ladies first.”

She smiled at him as she walked out the door. 

It was getting late, Alfred thought to himself as he followed her. He should really get to bed so that he could sober up; everyone else had probably already left. 

 

As it turned out a moment later, he was wrong.  _ Not  _ everyone had gone to bed - in fact, there was a sizeable crowd of courtiers standing just outside the side chamber they had just emerged from. Every one of them, it seemed, was staring at the two of them in shock, clearly wondering what Alfred and Cecilia were doing in there, alone and unchaperoned. 

 

Alfred glanced at Cecilia beside him, and then back at the courtiers who were still staring at them. There was a seemingly endless moment of silence, as he struggled desperately to think of an explanation, a reason the two of them had been closeted together in the side chamber. Nothing came. It seemed the champagne he had consumed was making his brain rather more sluggish than usual. Before he knew it, he found himself blurting out the first - and only - thing that came into his head. 

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said loudly, plastering a smile onto his face and gesturing towards Cecilia, “may I present to you the future Lady Cecilia Paget?”

 

There were gasps and murmured exclamations among the crowd, and Cecilia blushed. Alfred looked at her, biting his lip. That was perhaps not the wisest thing in the world he could have said, as they had just agreed they needed to meet again and discuss the matter further when they were both fully sober. 

It was too late to take the words back now, though, it seemed, as the women moved immediately towards Cecilia, gushing, and the men flocked towards him, pumping his hand enthusiastically and congratulating him on sweeping up one of London’s wealthiest and most beautiful heiresses. 

He tried his best to smile at them all and thank them for their good wishes, but in truth the swarm of people was making him feel rather claustrophobic and overwhelmed.

Perhaps this was how Edward had felt earlier, when people had flocked to congratulate  _ him _ , he mused. 

 

Oh god, he realised, a split second later, feeling a plummeting sensation in his stomach as his face drained of colour. 

_ Edward.  _

 

What was he  _ doing?  _ He’d just announced his engagement in the most public way possible, and he hadn’t even spoken to Edward about it yet! Already he could hear people chattering about the announcement making the newspapers; heiress Lady Cecilia Wyndham to become a member of the wealthy and influential Paget family. He felt panic rising in his chest, making it even more difficult to think clearly. 

He and Edward had made no time to be together until a few days from now - god, what if Edward found out by reading an announcement in the newspaper, or through gossip passed on from court to Parliament, before he heard it from him? 

He needed to get out of there. He couldn’t think clearly surrounded by all this noise, with all of these people wringing his hand. 

 

“Thank you for your kind words, ladies and gentlemen,” he said loudly, forcing himself to speak as clearly as possible. It would probably be best if he did not make it obvious quite how tipsy he was. “It has indeed been a most eventful evening.” Well, that was certainly true, he thought to himself sardonically. “But it is getting rather late, and I think perhaps it is high time for me to retire. I shall see you fine people in the morning. Goodnight, Cecilia,” he said, bowing over her hand and kissing it for the benefit of the people watching them. 

She looked at him, and it seemed that she read and understood the panic in his eyes, as she squeezed his hand reassuringly. 

“Goodnight, Alfred,” she responded quietly. 

He turned on his heel and practically fled from the ballroom, doing his best to muster up a smile as more congratulations came his way, waving away the champagne glasses that people were offering him - he really did  _ not  _ need any more of those. 

 

He did not stop until he was safely ensconced in his own private chamber. Still fully dressed, he threw himself face forwards on his bed, screwing up his eyes against the pillow as he tried to think. 

Obviously he had not proposed to Cecilia because he loved her, and thankfully, he knew perfectly well that she did not love him either. But how was Edward to know that? What if he didn’t understand? God, what if he thought it meant that Alfred was giving up on him, giving up on  _ them _ ? Surely Edward knew better than that? But no, knowing and loving Edward Drummond as he did, Alfred certainly wouldn’t put it past him to jump to a rash conclusion and to vastly underestimate how much Alfred adored him - particularly if Edward got the news from somewhere else before hearing it from him. 

He cursed himself for letting himself get so wine-sodden. His brain still seemed to be working more slowly than usual, and perhaps if he had not consumed quite so much alcohol, he would never have gotten himself into such a situation in the first place, with half the palace knowing about his proposal before Edward did. Now he had to figure out how to break the news to Edward, gently, before the information became even  _ more  _ public. 

He rolled over onto his back, pressing his hands over his face as he tried to think. 

Should he send a letter to Edward that explained everything?

_ No _ , was his instinctive answer. A letter would not do. It was too distant and impersonal - how could he possibly expect Edward to process all of this in a letter? That seemed only marginally better than just leaving him to read it in a newspaper announcement! He and Edward had learnt long ago that anything they put in writing to each other needed to be heavily coded and formal - to tell Edward that he was engaged in such a way seemed cold, brutal. Cowardly, even. How would he reassure him how much he loved him with such a letter?  Besides which, how could he be sure that  _ she  _ would not find the letter before Edward did? What if she decided to read it to him?!

 

There was only one right way to break the news, it seemed - he would  _ have  _ to tell Edward in person, face-to-face. 

Perhaps the only thing for it was to go to Edward’s house right this second and explain?

Barely knowing what he was doing, Alfred forced himself up from the bed. 

Struggling towards the door, he stumbled and tripped, grabbing onto the dresser for support. 

He looked at himself in the mirror, and sighed. 

 

He was being utterly ridiculous. It was nearly two in the morning, he couldn’t possibly go barging into Edward’s house at this hour. There was no chance he’d be able to wake Edward up without waking  _ her _ too - and how would he explain that? 

Besides, he evidently still wasn’t sober enough even to walk steadily. How was he supposed to gently and calmly explain everything to Edward in this state? He was a mess. 

He needed to tell Edward as soon as possible - but surely if he went at this very moment, he would only make the situation worse. 

 

No, what he needed to do at this moment was drink some water, and try his best to sleep off the effects of the alcohol. He would get up early and sneak out of the Palace in the morning. With any luck, he could catch Edward at home before he left for work, and do some damage control at a more reasonable hour. 

He knew Edward often left for the House before his wife even came down for breakfast - he remembered Edward mentioning how the pregnancy exhausted her - so she would most likely be out of the way. Yes, much better to catch Edward on his way to the House than to barge in now and wake  _ both  _ of them up. 

For now, though, the only thing to do was to calm down, get some sleep, and hope for the best tomorrow morning. 

He scoffed to himself. Easier said than done, he thought. He turned over, closing his eyes and trying not to dwell on what Edward might say when he told him. 

 

* * *

 

Edward was in a rush to get to the House, struggling to tie his cravat properly, put his coat on and get all of his things together without waking Florence up. He felt he had had rather a slow start this morning, still a little exhausted from worrying about Florence and the baby last night. 

It had taken him a long while to get to sleep, even after Florence had insisted she was feeling better, squeezing Edward’s hand gratefully after he had brought her tea and tucked her into bed, closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep as Edward had awkwardly stroked her hair. He had been glad that Florence was resting, but he himself had tossed and turned for hours afterwards.  

One moment, he was fretting about Florence’s earlier incident and whether it might mean there was something wrong with the baby, wondering if he ought to have fetched a doctor. The next moment, he had found his mind wandering back to the hurt in Alfred’s eyes on the balcony, the feeling of guilt as Alfred’s gaze had lingered on him leaving the ballroom with Florence. Alfred’s words echoed in his head:  _ “I can’t pretend it isn’t….difficult, sometimes. Loving you.”  _

He swallowed, burning shame in his stomach at the memory. He  _ hated  _ hurting Alfred. He knew how lonely Alfred felt sometimes, particularly when he was forced to see him with Florence. He knew perfectly well that Alfred was hurting, and yet sometimes he could not seem to avoid hurting him. He felt he had spent half the night wondering why Alfred had not left him yet, cold fear paralysing him at the idea that he might. If Alfred told him he was leaving....god, he didn’t know  _ what  _ he would do. 

 

And so here he was, running on scarcely three hours of sleep, still struggling to shake off thoughts of Alfred, thoughts of Florence and the baby. He needed to pull himself together, he told himself sternly - he still had to get to work, for goodness sake, and he was going to be running late if he didn’t hurry up. 

 

Pulling his coat on and hastily adjusting his collar, he began to hurry down the stairs towards the front door, only to be startled by someone rather frantically knocking before he reached it. 

He paused for a moment, halfway down the staircase, bewildered. Why would anyone be calling at the house at this hour of the morning? Florence was not even out of bed yet!

Before he could move towards the door, his butler Gerson appeared as if from nowhere to open it. 

“Good morning, Lord Alfred,” Gerson said, bowing, his deep voice somewhat surprised. 

Edward stared at Alfred in shock. What on  _ earth  _ was he doing here? Alfred barely _ ever  _ came to the house he shared with Florence, especially not so early in the morning and with absolutely no notice. After all, thanks to the generosity of Alfred’s brother, they had their own house to meet in. 

 

“Morning,” Alfred responded distractedly, scarcely glancing at Gerson, his eyes fixed on Edward standing on the staircase. “I’m sorry, but I really must talk to Edw-to Drummond. It’s a matter of some urgency.” 

Edward’s heart began to pound, and he felt his skin growing cold and clammy. Oh god, what had happened? Something was clearly wrong. 

 

Gerson stood aside, bowing Alfred into the house, and Edward hurried down the stairs to meet him. 

“My study,” he muttered quietly to Alfred. 

Alfred followed him quickly, wordlessly, and Edward held the study door open for him, closing it swiftly behind him, leaning against it as he turned to face his lover. 

 

Edward drew in a shaky breath as he got a proper look at Alfred’s face. He was as beautiful as ever, of course, but he also looked like he’d had even less sleep than Edward. He was even paler than usual, and those gorgeous blue eyes that Edward adored so much were currently wide with anxiety. He was absentmindedly twisting and wringing his hands together, seemingly unable to stay still. 

Everything about this was most unlike Alfred - the obvious agitation, the somewhat reckless arrival at Edward and Florence’s house without any warning at all - and unease was coiling tightly in Edward’s stomach. 

 

“Oh god, Alfred, what is it? What has happened, my love?” 

He moved towards him, grasping both of Alfred’s hands in his own, eyes darting over Alfred’s face. A terrible thought came into his mind, making his breath catch, and he squeezed Alfred’s hands tightly.

“Surely, we have not been  _ exposed _ ? Did someone at court….?”

“No,” Alfred said quickly, cutting him off, squeezing Edward’s hands back. “No, my darling, it is not that.” 

Edward breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t know  _ what _ he would have done if that guess had been right. 

 

“Well then, what is it, Alfred? What can possibly be so urgent that you could not even send a letter in advance?”

Alfred gazed at him, breathing rapidly, blue eyes still wide with anxiety. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. 

“Alfred….” Edward’s worry was beginning to mingle with impatience now. “I am already running late for work, you know. Whatever it is, just say it, please.” 

Alfred swallowed. “I’m not quite sure where to start….”

“Alfred.”

Alfred winced slightly at the sharpness in Edward’s tone, and nodded. 

“I’m sorry. What I needed to tell you is....that I am engaged, Edward.” 

 

There was complete silence in the room, other than the ticking of the grandfather clock, as Edward stared at Alfred, struggling to comprehend what he had just said. Surely, he must have misheard him. 

 

“You’re  _ what _ ?” he asked. 

“I am engaged,” Alfred repeated, his voice shaking. 

Edward’s mind was spinning, his heart seemed to have fallen through the floor, he could already feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Nothing about this made any sense. Perhaps he had not even woken up yet, perhaps this was simply a bizarrely painful dream. 

 

“But...but how?” He was struggling to form coherent words. “ _ How  _ can you be engaged, Alfred?”

Alfred opened his mouth, but Edward cut him off before he could answer. “Who is she? What woman are you suddenly engaged to?”

“Lady Cecilia Wyndham,” Alfred responded, his voice barely more than a whisper. “And you should know….that this is already common knowledge at court. I announced it last night.” 

 

Edward drew his hands away from Alfred’s as swiftly as though he had been burned, hurt tearing through his chest. Alfred was getting married - and not only that, he had deemed it fit to let the entire court know before he let  _ him  _ know? 

 

“Why, Alfred?”, he demanded, unable to keep the hurt and anger from his voice. “Why the  _ hell  _ would you do that?” 

Alfred looked down at the floor. “I did not intend to announce it at court before telling you, Edward. That’s why I’ve come here so early, I wanted to make sure you had heard it from me before somebody else mentioned it to you in gossip, or you read the announcement in the newspaper or something!”

Edward winced sharply, and Alfred reached out towards him. 

 

“Edward, I’m sorry, I know that announcing it publicly already was a mistake. I was a little drunk, I had too much champagne because it hurt to see you leaving with  _ her _ \- “

 

“Oh, I see,” Edward snapped, “so this is all  _ my  _ fault, is it? Because I was trying to help my wife when she was in pain and overwhelmed? Because I was trying to make sure my  _ child  _ was safe?” 

He did not miss the flash of hurt in Alfred’s eyes when he spoke about Florence and the baby, and though a part of him was ashamed for upsetting the man he loved, another part of him was furiously indignant at what now seemed to him like hypocrisy on Alfred’s part. Alfred so often made him feel guilty about having Florence in his life, and he was  _ still  _ doing it, intentionally or not, even after telling him that he himself had just proposed to Lady Cecilia!

He knew that he needed to calm down and speak rationally, but he could not seem to control himself.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Edward,” Alfred snapped back at him. “Obviously I was not trying to say that this is your fault, I just meant -” 

 

“And you think it was a mistake to announce your engagement, but it was  _ not _ a mistake for you to propose to Lady Cecilia in the first place?” Edward demanded, cutting Alfred off again. 

 

Alfred shook his head. 

“I’ll admit that I should probably have waited until I was a little more sober. But, no, Edward, I do not believe that my proposal to Cecilia was a mistake. I do not love her, and -” 

 

Edward inhaled sharply, tears stinging his eyes, growing more hurt and angry with every passing moment. 

“So what are you doing, toying with the woman? What is this, Alfred, some kind of revenge on me for bringing Florence with me last night? Did you really just propose to Lady Cecilia to  _ spite  _ me?”

 

Edward regretted his words as soon as he’d said them, wishing he could take them back, erase them from existence. Alfred glared at him, indignation and hurt in his narrowed eyes, and Edward knew with a sharp twinge of guilt and shame that he had just crossed an invisible line. 

 

“How dare you, Edward,” Alfred said quietly. “I would  _ never  _ spite you. I love you more than anything in the world, as you very well know.” 

 

Edward choked on a sob. “Then why would you do this to me, Alfred?  _ Why _ , why would you propose to a woman, without even explaining it to me or saying  _ anything  _ beforehand? What is this? Is this your way of telling me that I have hurt you too often? That you are giving up on  _ us _ ?” 

God, Edward wasn’t sure he wanted to hear Alfred’s answer. He couldn’t bear this. 

 

Alfred rubbed a hand across his forehead in frustration. 

“For God’s sake, Edward, I am  _ not  _ giving up on you! I am  _ trying  _ to explain, if you would just let me finish! I do not love Cecilia, and she doesn’t love me either. It will be a marriage of convenience -”

 

Edward made a slightly hysterical noise of disbelief. He couldn’t help himself. “ _ Convenience _ ?,” he repeated incredulously. “Alfred, of  _ course _ she loves you. How could she not? If you get married, you will be hurting your wife every day, and you will live with constant shame. Believe me, I know.” His voice cracked as he spoke.

 

“No, Edward, the situation will  _ not  _ be the same. My marriage will be  _ different  _ to yours, if you would just let me  _ explain  _ -” 

 

“You’re being a complete, hypocrite, Alfred,” Edward exclaimed, raising his voice as he cut him off again. 

 

“Excuse me?” Alfred said indignantly, raising his voice to match Edward’s volume. “Me, a hypocrite?” 

 

“ _ Yes,  _ Alfred,  _ you _ , a hypocrite!” Edward responded loudly, taking a few steps closer to Alfred. Alfred refused to back away, but moved closer towards him, jutting his chin out and meeting Edward’s eyes defiantly. 

“In case you don’t remember, you were  _ miserable  _ when I told you I was going to go through with  _ my  _ marriage, and I really think -”

 

Edward stopped speaking abruptly as there was a timid knock on the study door. Before either of them could answer, the door swung open without invitation, and both of them looked over to see Florence, standing awkwardly in the doorway, wrapped in her dressing gown.

 

* * *

 

 

Florence couldn’t get back to sleep. 

 

It had taken a while for sleep to come in the first place, worried as she was about the baby, in pain and uncomfortable, despite her reassurances to Edward that she was feeling better.

 

She had been feeling rather angry at Edward over the last few months, and she was aware that she’d been somewhat cold and distant, perhaps more than he deserved. She couldn’t put her finger on why he would do it, but ever since the incident with the two letters, she had been almost sure that there was something he wasn’t telling her, something that he was lying about, in fact. 

It hurt to think that the boy she had grown up with was refusing to share things with her, to think that she could no longer trust him. 

 

She had to admit, though, that last night she had seen glimmers of her best friend, her childhood hero, peeking through the wall he had put up between the two of them. He had been so quick to run to her side when she had felt so suddenly overwhelmed at the ball last night and had asked Sir John to find him. It was always her first instinct to look for Edward when she was in pain or scared, even when she was angry with him. 

But he had been so gentle with her while he took her home, and he had not even pointed out the obvious fact that she should have listened to his advice and stayed home in the first place, which she appreciated hugely, as she’d felt foolish enough as it was. He had stayed with her when they got home, bringing her tea, tucking her into bed, stroking her hair soothingly - if a little awkwardly - as she very slowly fell asleep. 

It was strange, Florence had thought to herself as she drifted off. She had not been able to fall in love with Edward, and what was more, she was fairly certain he was lying to her about something, or at least bending the truth. Yet still, she knew that it was perhaps one man in a thousand that was as kind, caring, sweet and patient as her husband. 

Edward had become such an enigma in so many ways - and yet, her last thought before she had fallen asleep was that she was immensely grateful to have him at her side.  

 

Though they often slept separately, it seemed he had not left her side last night and had fallen asleep next to her, for she had been woken by the sounds of him getting up and moving around as he got ready for work. It was clear he was trying his best not to wake her up, so she had humoured him, keeping her eyes closed as she listened to him bustling around, mumbling to himself in that classic Edward way as he tried to gather everything he needed. 

Once she heard him start to make his way downstairs, she had tried her best to get back to sleep. But it was no use, she was already wide awake, feeling the baby pressing on her, her mind dwelling on thoughts of Edward and the day ahead. 

She needed to thank him for everything he had done for her last night - but she had also been trying to work up the courage to tell him that they needed to talk properly. She owed him an explanation for her recent behaviour - but then again, she did not feel it was unreasonable to suggest that he owed  _ her  _ an explanation for  _ his  _ behaviour, too. Perhaps today would be the day they could  _ finally  _ sit down and talk. How she missed the days when her relationship with Edward was uncomplicated and straightforward, when he was simply her best friend and her hero, before he had turned so bewildering and secretive. 

 

She sighed, pushing the bed covers back and reaching for her dressing gown. She supposed she would go downstairs and ring for some tea. 

Going to the dresser, she picked up her hairbrush. Running it absentmindedly through her hair, she spotted a gleam of silver on the dresser which had been hidden by the brush. Frowning slightly, she reached for it, realising what it was as she did so. 

It was Edward’s pocket watch. 

Florence sighed again, shaking her head slightly. Honestly, for a man of such intelligence, it was amazing how often she found herself thinking that her husband would forget his own head if it wasn’t attached to his neck. 

Edward would feel a little lost at work if he didn’t have his pocket watch on him. She thought she had heard him making his way downstairs before - was there any chance he was still at home? Doubtful, but she supposed it would do no harm to check, just in case she was able to catch him before he left. 

 

Wrapped in her dressing gown, she made her way downstairs. 

Immediately, it was evident that Edward had  _ not  _ left for work yet; she could distinctly hear his voice coming from his study. 

She frowned, an uneasy feeling twisting in her stomach. She had never heard Edward sound like that, he sounded  _ furious _ . It was a little unnerving to hear such anger in his usually quiet and gentle voice. 

Who was he even talking to - or perhaps ‘shouting at’ would be more accurate - at this time of the morning?

 

Hesitantly, she approached the study door so that she could make out Edward’s words more clearly. 

 

“ _ Yes _ , Alfred,  _ you _ , a hypocrite!” he was saying. “In case you don’t remember, you were  _ miserable  _ when I told you I was going to go through with  _ my _ marriage -”

 

Florence closed her eyes briefly, feeling an awful sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t know what was going on, but whatever it was, her immediate instinct was that she needed to stop it.

She knocked tentatively, before deciding a split second later that she was not going to wait for Edward’s permission to enter, particularly not if he was talking about her behind her back behind this door. 

She opened the door and walked straight into the study. 

 

Her breath hitched in her chest at the tableau frozen in front her in the moment before both men turned to face her. 

Edward was glaring at Lord Alfred, his chest heaving, tears glistening in his dark eyes, hurt and anger written plainly across his handsome face. Lord Alfred was looking back at him defiantly, but the hurt and frustration was just as clear on his face. 

There was barely an inch of space between the two of them. 

 

Florence blinked, unsure how to process what she was seeing. 

As soon as the two men looked around and saw her standing in the doorway, they moved hastily further away from each other. 

Lord Alfred met her gaze, and Florence took a small step back. Despite the fact that he was Edward’s best friend, she felt that they had barely ever spoken properly, even when they had both been taking care of Edward together during those awful days so many months ago. She did not know him very well, but he had always greeted her with a bow and a polite, if somewhat distant smile. 

But he was not bothering to smile at her now. It seemed as though he was too drained by his argument with Edward to put on his usual polite courtier’s mask. Lord Alfred looked straight at her - unusual in itself - and there was bitter resentment in his eyes. 

Florence swallowed uncomfortably. Nobody had ever looked at her like that before, making it so clear that they did not want to see her. 

 

She looked hastily away from Lord Alfred, towards Edward, hoping he might explain something,  _ anything _ , about what was going on. 

Edward was looking at her as if he didn’t have any energy left, as though he was utterly exhausted. 

“I did not realise you were awake,” he said. “Were you looking for me, Florence?”

  
  


It seemed nobody was about to offer her any kind of explanation. 

 

“Yes, I….” She had to think for a moment to remember why she had come downstairs in the first place. 

“You forgot your pocket watch, Edward. I have it here….”

She trailed off awkwardly, holding it out for him. 

 

“Thank you,” Edward responded, coming forwards to take it from her, halfheartedly attempting to muster a smile as he continued to avoid Lord Alfred’s eyes. It looked more like a grimace. 

“I’m sorry, Florence, but I really must get to work, I’m running rather late now.”

She looked at him questioningly, and it seemed he understood what she was asking without the words. 

“Lord Alfred came to deliver a message to me,” he said tightly, still refusing to look back at him as he spoke. “He was just leaving.”

 

“Indeed I was,” said Lord Alfred curtly. “I bid you a good day, Mrs Drummond.” 

He tipped his hat to her, now avoiding her eyes as he so often did, and walked briskly out of the room, without looking back and without a word of farewell to Edward. 

Florence stared after him as he left, and heard the front door slam shut a moment later. 

 

She turned back to Edward, still utterly bewildered. Surely, he was going to give her  _ some  _ kind of explanation? 

Edward had turned away from her so she could not see his face. He needn’t have bothered - it was obvious that he was wiping away tears. 

Despite everything, she felt her heart going out to him. She had no clue what was going on, but she had not seen Edward cry since he was a young boy. She hated to see him so distraught. 

 

“Edward….” She reached out towards him instinctively, although she hardly knew what to say to comfort him. 

He turned around, though he still wasn’t meeting her eyes. 

 

“I have to get to work, Florence,” he said again, his voice shaking.  “I will see you later. Please rest, take care of yourself….and the baby….”

 

He paused for a moment, as though wondering if there was anything else he could say, but after a moment of uncomfortable silence, he went to the window, peering out onto the street. Florence knew that he was checking to make sure Lord Alfred had disappeared from sight. 

Evidently, he could not see him, for he sighed, straightened his shoulders, and walked out of the study, slamming the front door a moment later as Lord Alfred had done before him. 

 

Left alone in Edward’s study with nothing but the sound of the ticking grandfather clock, Florence sank down slowly into Edward’s empty chair. 

Whatever had just happened, whatever she had just walked in on, it had certainly not been a casual disagreement or argument between friends. She had never seen either Edward or Lord Alfred looking so hurt, so furious. Whatever they had been talking about, it could not possibly have been caused by Lord Alfred simply ‘delivering a message.’ Whatever it was, it had clearly devastated them both. 

And why had she heard Edward bringing  _ her  _ into it, bringing their marriage into it? Why on earth should Lord Alfred be ‘miserable’ about that? 

She closed her eyes, remembering once again the letter that she had shut in her jewellery box so many months ago, the one she had tried to push to the back of her mind. 

_ Yours, Alfred.  _   
  


Florence buried her face in her hands, listening to the relentless ticking of the clock. 

She had so often thought that Edward was a puzzle she could not quite solve. 

Could it be possible that she had found the solution? 

Was Lord Alfred Paget the missing piece?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where do these three go from here....?  
> Stay tuned to find out!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos make my day - thank you to everyone who's still sticking with me and my story!
> 
> With any luck I may also have a Les Mis AU coming your way in the next few weeks, so keep an eye out for that as well :D xxx


	23. Crystal Clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Alfred finally have a proper conversation after their fight. Meanwhile, Florence does some reflecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised some fluff, and I have given you some, I swear - but also, buckle in, everyone....

Alfred paced up and down the silent living room, his heart pounding, a knot of anxiety in his stomach as he darted glances over at the clock in the corner every few seconds.

 

He had sent a letter to Edward, begging him to come to the house that George had lent them so that they could talk. It was now three days since he had gone to Edward’s house and tried to explain about his engagement. Three days since Edward had shouted at him, angrier and more hurt than Alfred had ever seen him. His words were still ringing in Alfred’s ears; _‘Did you really just propose to Lady Cecilia to_ spite _me? Are you giving up on_ us _?’_

 

Alfred rubbed his hands across his face impatiently, scrubbing away the beginnings of tears. If only he had kept calm and been patient with Edward, settled him down so that he could actually explain properly. But no, he had just _had_ to argue back, he’d _had_ to be stubborn as usual, throwing more fuel on the fire instead of putting it out.

He’d just let the frustration and the hurt escalate, rather than explaining the most significant thing to Edward, the fact that Cecilia had no interest in him because she was in love with a woman. If only he had said that straightaway, perhaps there would not have been any fight, perhaps he would be curled up in Edward’s arms right now.

But of course, Edward _still_ did not know that part of the story - largely because his wretched wife had decided to walk in on them in the heat of their argument.

 

He sighed, remembering again the look of shock on Florence’s face as she had stood there, staring at them from the doorway. Good timing, it would seem, was not Mrs Drummond’s forte.

God, he had no clue _what_ Florence might have made of what she saw. He had spent many months training himself not to show any emotion in front of her, never to show her how he felt - but he had been feeling so overwhelmed and frustrated, and then so resentful of her interrupting them, invading his time with Edward as it seemed she _always_ did, that he was quite certain his bitterness had been crystal clear on his face.

He had practically fled, unable to cope with her bewildered presence on top of everything else.

He had no idea what Edward had said to her to explain after he’d gone, but when he looked back, something about the expression on Florence’s face made unease coil deep in his stomach. He was trying his best to shake the feeling off; it was foolish of him to waste his energy worrying about Mrs Drummond. Particularly when he had had nothing but icy silence from Edward over the last three days.

 

Here he was, waiting for Edward to arrive so that he could finally explain properly as he’d promised in the letter - but he had no idea whether Edward was even going to show up, not having received any letter in return.

If Edward was really convinced he had proposed to Cecilia because he was giving up on them….

He made a choked noise, running his hands through his hair. Perhaps he really had gone insane.

 

A sudden knock on the door startled him out of his tormenting thoughts.

Hope flaring within him, Alfred ran towards the door and wrenched it open without conscious thought.

He exhaled a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding, relief flooding through him as he saw Edward standing awkwardly, tentatively on the doorstep.

 

“Can I….can I come in?” Edward asked quietly.

“Can you….of course you can come in, Edward!” Alfred responded incredulously. “Who did you think I was waiting for, Palmerston?”

Edward cracked a small, reluctant grin, and Alfred couldn’t help but smile back at him.

 

Edward stepped into the house, and Alfred, closing the door behind him, gestured towards the living room.

Following a few paces behind him, Alfred found Edward standing awkwardly in front of the sofa as though he was not quite sure what to do with himself.

“You can sit down, you know, Edward,” Alfred reminded him gently.

 

Edward perched tentatively on the edge of the sofa, and Alfred sat cautiously next to him. He longed to reach out and take Edward’s hand - but something about Edward’s wary posture told him he was not yet ready for that.

 

“Thank god you came,” Alfred said after a beat of silence, in a voice barely louder than a whisper. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“Honestly, I wasn’t sure I would either,” Edward admitted, looking down at his lap. “I was still angry with you.”

Alfred winced slightly, but nodded. “What persuaded you?”

“I missed you,” Edward whispered, finally looking up at Alfred. As always, Alfred felt his heart skip a beat as he got caught in those familiar dark, green-flecked eyes. “And I hate being away from you, knowing that I’ve upset you.”

Alfred swallowed, blinking back tears. “God, me too.”

Edward’s hand twitched slightly, as though he was longing to hold Alfred’s. But there was still a wary distance between them. There was another awkward moment of silence before Edward began to speak hesitantly.

 

“Your letter said….that you still have things you need to explain to me? That you did not get a chance to tell me everything the other day?”

Alfred nodded. “If you are ready to hear it....”

“I am,” Edward said quietly. “I am sorry that I got so angry at you. Truly, Alfred. I behaved terribly the other day. I didn’t even let you speak properly. I was already anxious when you arrived, and then I completely panicked when you told me you were engaged. But none of that is an excuse for treating you like that, or saying the things I did. I’m so, so sorry, Alfred.  And I’m sorry for leaving you without a word these past few days. Can you forgive me? And is there any chance we can….start the conversation over again?”

 

Alfred just looked at him, feeling tears welling in his eyes.

“Alfred?” Edward asked anxiously.

“Sorry, it’s just….” He took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together.

“Yes, Edward. Of course I forgive you. And yes, we can start the conversation over.”

 

Edward exhaled shakily in relief, and turned his entire body to face Alfred on the sofa, crossing his legs. Alfred mirrored him.

“So….you asked Lady Cecilia to marry you,” Edward started tentatively.

Alfred nodded. “I did. And I am truly sorry that I did not tell you about it until afterwards. It was rather a spur-of-the-moment decision. And I am sorry for announcing it immediately at court, I was tipsy and idiotic.”

Edward swallowed, looking as though he was struggling to find words that did not sound accusatory or judgemental.

“And was there any particular reason you decided to propose to her, ‘in the spur of the moment?’”

 

He hesitated for a split second. Despite the fact that Edward was himself in love with a man, Alfred had a feeling that he would be rather taken aback by the realisation that there were also women who loved other women.  He wasn’t quite sure where to start.

 

“First of all, I promise you that I am marrying Lady Cecilia only as a friend, Edward. I am in love with you and nobody else in the world. And Cecilia knows perfectly well that I don’t love her. That knowledge isn’t something that hurts her. She’s not in love with me either, and she never will be - I know that for a fact.”

 

Edward tilted his head to the side, looking confused and a little disbelieving.

“What gives you the idea that she’s not in love with you? Who _wouldn’t_ be in love with you?”

 

Alfred smiled softly at the beautiful man in front of him, still unable to believe how lucky he was that Edward loved _him._ He couldn’t resist reaching up to brush Edward’s cheek gently before answering his question.

 

“Well, Edward, I know that Cecilia isn’t in love with me, because I know that she’s besotted with Harriet, not me. From what I can gather, she has never in her life been remotely interested in any man in that way, just as I have never been interested in any woman romantically. So you see, it occurred to me that we really are quite well-suited, though perhaps not in the way most people would expect.”

 

Edward stared at him, speechless, shock written across his face. Alfred found himself biting his lip in an attempt to hide his amusement.

“She’s….in love with the Duchess of Sutherland?” Edward asked, sounding utterly bewildered. “Lady Cecilia is in love with another woman?”

 

“Well, she _believes_ that she is in love with her for the moment, at least,” he answered. “Not that Harriet isn’t wonderful, of course, but I have a feeling that Cecilia is more infatuated than in love. She may find that her feelings for Harriet pale in comparison, once she meets the right woman. That’s certainly how it was for me - honestly, I can barely even remember any of the men I met before you.”

 

Edward frowned slightly at the reference to Alfred’s encounters with other men, but it seemed he was still too distracted by the revelation about Cecilia to dwell on it.

 

“So….so you’re saying that there are women who….who fall in love with other women?”

“Yes, Edward,” Alfred said patiently, beginning to grin. “In fact, there are even women who bed other women, just as there are men such as us.”

 

Edward looked at him, bewildered. “But surely, Alfred….women do not have desires in the same way that men do?”

Alfred rolled his eyes slightly, wondering for one brief, smug second if Edward’s wife had any idea what she was missing out on.

 

“Believe me, Edward, a great many of them do. In Cecilia’s case, though, she does not have any of those desires towards men - but of course she was going to have to marry a man eventually. As soon as I knew about her feelings towards Harriet - who is, as you know, in love with a man - I realised that I could help her, just as she could help me. I believe our marriage will make life safer and easier for both of us, as people will be more unlikely to suspect our true….leanings.”

 

Edward tilted his head to the side slightly, as though considering his words.

 

“I enjoy her company, Edward, and she enjoys mine,” Alfred continued quietly. “I do feel rather lonely sometimes, when you cannot be with me - I know it is not your choice, and I am not blaming you,” he said quickly, reaching up to stroke Edward’s face again as Edward opened his mouth to speak.

“But I truly believe that it will be good for me, to have someone else who I can talk to about everything, openly and honestly. Cecilia and I will be able to have a marriage where we understand each other, where we have no need to hide from each other. And obviously, neither one of us has the slightest desire to bed each other, or to be physically intimate in any way.”

 

Edward looked at him, a smile beginning to creep across his face.

 

“This way, Cecilia will never have to worry about being married off to some brute who does not care about her comfort, who forces her to bed him,” Alfred murmured, locking his eyes on Edward’s, measuring his reaction to the words. “I want to protect her by marrying her, Edward. Just as you wanted to protect _your_ wife.”

 

He looked at Edward, his breath hitching in his throat, praying that the man he loved would understand, would support his decision.

 

“Does that….make a little more sense to you now, Edward?”

 

A moment of shivering silence.

Then, Edward leaned forwards, cupping Alfred’s face gently in both his hands, and began pressing soft kisses to his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, the corner of his mouth. Alfred felt his lips curving into a smile.

 

“You are the kindest, most caring man in the world, Alfred Henry Paget,” Edward murmured between kisses. “Lady Cecilia will be lucky to marry a man who is such a wonderful friend to her.”

 

Alfred felt warmth curling in his stomach, and he wrapped his arms around Edward’s neck, pressing his forehead against Edward’s.

“I am so sorry I shouted,” Edward whispered. “I’m sorry I got so angry at you. It wasn’t fair of me. I just….I could not bear the thought of you living with somebody else who loved you. But if this is something that will make both you and Lady Cecilia happier and safer, then….I understand.”

 

“Really?” Alfred whispered.

Edward nodded.

“Really,” he confirmed.

“So….we’re alright?”

Edward smiled, his eyelids fluttering shut as he nuzzled his nose gently against Alfred’s.

“Yes, we’re alright,” he murmured. Alfred exhaled in relief.

“Just….maybe next time, you could tell me _before_ you propose marriage to a woman?” Edward asked, grinning. “It’s just that I’m not used to sharing you, Alfred.”

 

Alfred felt a grin spreading across his own face, and he reached up, beginning to slowly untie Edward’s cravat.

“You know, if it makes you feel better,” he murmured, his lips pressed against the soft skin he’d just exposed, “while we were apart these last few days, I _did_ think of some new things I might like to try with you. That is, if you’d be amenable, of course.”

He smirked to himself as he felt Edward’s pulse speed up under his lips.

“I confess myself intrigued,” Edward said, sounding somewhat breathless.

“Yes, I thought you might be,” Alfred responded in a tone of faux innocence.

 

He grinned again as Edward pulled him closer to his chest, cupping his face and bringing their lips together fiercely.

 

* * *

 

 

**ONE MONTH LATER - FEBRUARY 1847**

 

“You’re glowing, Wilhemina,” Florence observed, smiling at her friend. “Why, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you looking so joyful!”

 

They were sitting having tea in Florence’s parlour, along with the other guests she had invited, Harriet Sutherland and Lady Cecilia Wyndham.

Edward was at work, but nevertheless Florence felt a certain satisfaction in spending time with female friends, in such a female space. This part of the house was _her_ territory, and Edward was extremely unlikely to set foot in it even if he’d been home. She was grateful for that; she really felt she needed some space from him at the moment.

 

“Come on, tell us,” Florence continued, nudging her old friend slightly. “What’s got you looking so radiant?”

 

Wilhemina blushed and smiled, looking down at her lap.

“Well, it’s still a secret - that is to say, we have not officially announced it yet….”

 

“Sir John has finally asked you to marry him,” Harriet interjected, beaming.

Wilhemina nodded, tears of happiness glistening in her eyes. “And I have said yes, of course.”

 

“Congratulations!” the other three chimed simultaneously.

Florence reached for her friend’s hand.

“I am so happy for you, Wilhemina, truly. You will have a wonderful life with Sir John, I’m sure of it.”

She felt something uncomfortable and heavy in her chest as she smiled at Wilhemina. Regret? Jealousy? Loneliness? She forced the feeling down.

 

“Thank you so much,” Wilhemina said, her smile so bright it seemed to illuminate the room. “I never thought I could be this happy. I never realised a man could make me feel this way, make my heart pound so much just by giving me little secret smiles across the room, just by touching my hand.”

Harriet smiled at her. “Isn’t it the most wonderful thing in the world? I was not lucky enough to feel that way in my first marriage, as you know, but Prince Ernest....he somehow makes me melt, just by brushing my face with his hand.”

 

Florence felt rather awkward. She had nothing to contribute to this conversation. Edward had never made her feel anything close to what they were describing.

She heard a faint clatter, and looked around to see that Lady Cecilia’s hands were shaking slightly on her saucer as she watched Harriet gush.

She frowned to herself slightly, wondering what had caused Cecilia’s fright, and how she might distract her from it.

 

“And of course, Lady Cecilia, you are engaged to be married too,” she said quietly. Cecilia looked round at her, startled, seemingly jolted out of a reverie.

“Engaged to be married to my husband’s dear friend, Lord Alfred Paget!” Florence continued, wondering why her own voice sounded suddenly so overly bright.

“It seems there is a great deal for us all to celebrate at the moment!”

 

There was a silence heavy with awkwardness and discomfort. Wilhemina and Harriet glanced at each other briefly, before quickly looking in opposite directions, both of them studiously avoiding Florence’s eye.

Florence felt a sinking weight in her stomach, a feeling that everyone else in the room knew something she did not. It was a feeling she was becoming increasingly accustomed to.

 

The news of Lord Alfred and Lady Cecilia’s engagement had appeared in the newspapers a mere day after she had walked in on that strange, tense argument he seemed to have been having with Edward.

Rather surprised that Edward had not mentioned that his best friend was engaged to one of London’s most eligible heiresses, Florence had asked him if he’d heard the news.

For some reason, he had blanched, and it had taken a moment before he answered her.

“Yes, Lord Alfred did tell me the happy news,” he had eventually responded, in a voice which seemed to be shaking slightly, his face turned away from her.

Edward had immediately changed the topic after those few words, but Florence hadn’t been able to help but notice that his fist had clenched, seemingly involuntarily, the knuckle turning white.

 

She had invited Lady Cecilia around today largely because she felt that it was important to get to know her a little better, as the future wife of Edward’s closest friend. But there was curiosity as well, fascination, a strange sense that Cecilia had answers that she didn’t.

 

“It must be wonderful to know you are loved by a man such as Lord Alfred,” she said, finally breaking the tense silence in the room, smiling at Cecilia again.

The words felt strange in Florence’s mouth, falsely sweet. She did not know exactly why, and she had not intended it, but she felt almost as though she was testing Cecilia.

 

Cecilia smiled back at her, though Florence could tell immediately that her smile was different to Harriet’s and Wilhemina’s when they spoke about the men they loved. Cecilia’s did not reach her eyes.

“I am indeed very fortunate,” she answered quietly. “Lord Alfred is the kindest, wittiest, most charming man I know. I am lucky to be marrying him, and I am sure he will make me happy.”

She did not elaborate further, and after another moment of silence, Wilhemina piped up, with an air of desperation to change the topic.

“Did you hear, Her Majesty and His Highness Prince Albert are arguing _again_? Really, I understand they have differing temperaments, but there comes a point when it becomes uncomfortable for the people around them….”

 

Florence barely took in any of her friend’s words, gazing curiously at Cecilia instead.

It was odd, she had praised her fiance Lord Alfred as she was expected to do, but she did not sound at all passionate or adoring in the way that Harriet did when she spoke about Prince Ernest, or Wilhemina did when speaking of Sir John Stanhope.

Lady Cecilia truly appreciated and cared about Lord Alfred, that was clear. But her tone made it clear that their relationship was not like Harriet and Ernest’s, or Wilhemina and John’s. No matter how well-matched they might be on paper, Florence was almost certain that Cecilia was not in love with Lord Alfred, and she did not think he was in love with her either.

 

She wondered for a moment why it was so easy for her to understand Cecilia’s feelings - but then, a cold and empty feeling spreading across her chest, she realised that the feelings were easy for her to understand because they were so familiar to her.

Like Cecilia and Lord Alfred, she and Edward were well-matched on paper, in theory, but the harsh reality, no matter how much she had tried to deny it to herself since her wedding, was that she was not in love with her husband and she never would be. What was more, Edward would never truly be in love with her either.

 

Florence felt her breath hitch in her throat, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes as the reality she had tried so hard to deny came crashing down on her.

Rapidly trying to blink the tears away, another thought occurred to her as she stared at Cecilia.

 

Although it was obvious she knew there was no romantic love between her and her fiance, she also seemed perfectly calm and serene when she spoke about him. Not like Florence, who was constantly tormenting herself, guilting herself for not loving her husband, wondering what things Edward was sharing with her and what he was hiding from her.

Perhaps Cecilia was simply better at dissembling than she was? But no, something told Florence that unlike she and Edward, Cecilia and Lord Alfred had had a conversation, had reached some kind of understanding as to why neither of them could love the other in that way. Perhaps they had agreed that the match would be a mutual convenience?

 

She swallowed, feeling herself drifting many miles away from the conversation as she remembered all of the strange little incidences that she had tried to ignore over the last year.

The two contradicting letters Edward had sent her, and his feeble explanation.

His odd reluctance to let her come with him to the New Years’ Ball.

The fight she had walked in on between him and Lord Alfred, which had seemed so intensely emotional.

His fist clenching when she asked about Lord Alfred’s engagement.

Lord Alfred’s refusal to leave his side at all, during those dreadful days in the hospital.

And the letter Lord Alfred had sent him, the letter she had taken from his coat pocket, the one which had stayed in her jewellery box for so many months.

 

“Gracious, look at the time!” Harriet exclaimed suddenly, cutting into Florence’s reverie as she stood up abruptly. “I am sorry, Florence, but I really feel we should be heading back to the Palace, Her Majesty will be beginning to wonder where we have got to! Thank you for having us round, it was lovely to catch up.”

 

“No...of course….thank you for coming,” Florence responded awkwardly, standing too.

“Actually, Wilhemina, I was wondering if you might be able to stay here for a little longer? I would rather appreciate your help with something.”

She had not intended to say that, but she made her decision on the spot.

Wilhemina hesitated, glancing at Harriet as though mutely asking for her assistance.

“Um….now, Florence? It’s just that the Queen really will be expecting us....”

“You are free to blame me if Her Majesty reprimands you,” Florence said quickly. “It’s a rather urgent matter.”

Wilhemina hesitated still, glancing back and forth between Florence and Harriet.

“Wilhemina. Please,” Florence said quietly, gazing imploringly at her friend.

She sighed and nodded. “Very well, Florence. Of course I will help you.”

 

Florence nodded gratefully, waiting as Harriet and Lady Cecilia murmured their goodbyes and left the room hastily, Gerson escorting them out. She did not speak until she heard the front door close.

 

“Please, sit,” she said, gesturing to the sofa and making an effort to smile kindly, despite the fact that her heart was pounding and her palms were clammy.

Wilhemina perched tentatively on the edge of the sofa, and Florence sat down next to her, noticing that her friend was not looking her in the eye.

 

“I need to ask you something, Wilhemina,” she said quietly. “And I hope, as one of my oldest friends, that you will answer my question truthfully.”

Wilhemina swallowed. “What is it, Florence?”

She looked terrified, and Florence was sorry for upsetting her, but she knew she had to press on. She _had_ to know the truth.

 

“My husband is not in love with me,” Florence said in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper, feeling shame curling in her stomach.

“I have known it for a while, I think, but hearing you and Harriet talking about the men you love made it crystal clear. Edward is not like that with me, and he never has been.”

 

Wilhemina flinched slightly, still avoiding her eyes.

“Well,” she said, fidgeting uncomfortably, “most marriages are not built on love, Florence. I have just been very lucky with John. And besides,” she added, “you said you needed me to answer a question. That was not a question.”

 

“No, you’re right, that was just a fact,” Florence responded. “I have not asked my question yet.”

 

“Then what is your question, Florence?” Wilhemina asked nervously.

 

Florence took a deep breath. It was now or never.

“I was wondering if you could tell me, honestly - do you know what, precisely, there is between my husband and his friend Lord Alfred?”

 

* * *

 

 

It had been a long day at Parliament, and Edward was rather exhausted as he finally let himself into his house.

He was thinking rather wistfully that he might bring a glass of port into his study, and perhaps sit there reading for a bit, before sinking into a hot bath (fantasising about Alfred being there with him, of course), and then retiring to bed.

He was not seeing Alfred tonight, but he was due to see him tomorrow night, which was enough in itself to lift his mood.

 

It was later than he had thought, he realised as he looked at the grandfather clock at the end of the hall. Florence was likely already asleep, as the pregnancy was tiring her out. He would have to be cautious not to wake her.

 

Hanging up his coat and hat, he walked into the living room, heading for the sideboard that held the glasses and the decanters of port and whisky.

He jumped slightly, as he saw that Florence was _not_ , in fact, asleep, but rather sitting at the living room table, wide awake. It looked as if she had stayed up waiting for him, which was most unusual.

There was a strange expression on her face as she looked at him, one that Edward had never seen her wear before.

 

“Florence,” he said brightly, trying not to sound as surprised as he felt. “I apologise, I thought you would have retired upstairs already.”

 

She did not smile at him or greet him.

“Sit down, please, Edward,” was all she said.

Without knowing exactly why, Edward felt his heart leap into his throat, sharp and painful. He had never heard her use such an assertive, authoritative tone before.

 

Slowly, uncertainly, he slid obediently into the chair opposite her, staring at her. What on earth was going on?

For a moment, Florence chewed on her lip, as though wondering what she was going to do next. Then, she visibly straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and reached down, taking something from her lap and placing it on the table between them.

It was her jewellery box.

Edward stared at it in bewilderment.

Florence took a deep breath, opened her jewellery box, and extracted something from deep within it. She unfurled it and placed it down in front of Edward.

It was a faintly bloodstained piece of paper, covered in Alfred’s beautiful, familiar handwriting.

All at once, he realised exactly what it was Florence was showing him, and his heart began pounding so hard he thought it might burst through his chest.

“Edward,” she said quietly, her tone making it clear that she would brook no nonsense from him.

“Could you explain to me - truthfully, please - what Lord Alfred meant by sending you this letter? And what exactly did he mean by signing himself ‘ _Yours, Alfred_?’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Evil laugh* 
> 
> (Please don't kill me)
> 
> (I will try not to leave you on that for too long)
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who leaves me kudos and gorgeous comments, you really are fuelling me!
> 
> Also, if it makes you feel better, the entire plot for this story including the epilogue has now been written down in my notes! So buckle in tightly <3 <3 xxx


	24. Past the Point of No Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Florence have a conversation. Edward and Alfred have one as a consequence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did warn you all to buckle in....
> 
> *Content Warning*: There is a brief reference to some (offscreen) child abuse in this chapter. Also, a brief implication of internalised homophobia. 
> 
> (Also, 10 house points to the first person to spot the newest musical theatre reference in the chapter title, because I cannot help myself :D)

**1830**

 

“Florence?”

 

Edward had thought he might find Florence on this little bench in the Drummonds’ garden.

She loved to sit in this peaceful little corner, surrounded by climbing ivy and roses, hidden away from the prying eyes of their parents and their governess.

 

She hadn’t come to French class, and considering the trouble they had both been in the last time they had not gone to class, he had reasoned that she was probably up to something important. Maybe she was trying to comfort Rosalie again, after that horrible Miss Beecham’s incessant bullying?

 

He had headed straight for her favourite place in the garden as soon as he was let out of class, intending to scold her for leaving him to suffer his boredom alone, and for risking getting herself into trouble again.

 

Edward had expected to find her grinning and rather pleased with herself for escaping from the adults.

He certainly hadn’t expected to hear her sobbing to herself.

 

“Florence, what’s wrong?” he asked anxiously, bursting in on the little clearing.

She jumped a little, startled, as did Rosalie, who was sitting next to her, holding her hand. Rosalie beamed at her older brother as soon as she saw him.

 

“Why are you crying?” Edward asked, his unruly curls flopping down into his eyes as he knelt down in front of her on the ground.

 

“Don’t be stupid, Edward, I wasn’t crying!” Florence said, trying to sound cross, even as her voice shook and she reached up to wipe her eyes.

“Yes you were!” Rosalie piped up helpfully. “She was, Edward!”

Florence stuck her tongue out at her.

 

“Tell me what’s wrong, Florence,” he said firmly, reaching out to hold her hand in one of his, and his sister’s in the other.

“Don’t worry about it,” she muttered, shaking her head, butterscotch ringlets bouncing.

“Florence….”

She sighed.

“Papa hit me again,” she said quietly. “He slapped me on the face. It hurt a lot.”

 

Edward frowned, feeling a sickening wave of pity and anger in his stomach. Now that he looked closely, he could see a slight red mark on Florence’s face.

 

“Why?” he demanded. “ _Why_ did your Papa hit you?”

 

She looked down at her lap, sniffling as she wiped more tears away.

“Because I spoke out of turn,” she said. “I heard him speaking to Mama, he was angry with her. He was saying it was pathetic that, out of all the times she has been pregnant, all she has to show for it is me, and she could not give him a boy.

And then I spoke up, to tell him that he did not need any boys, because I am just as clever as a boy would be. And….” her eyes filled with tears again.

“He slapped me across the face, hard, and told me that, because I am not a boy, I must learn to be seen and not heard.”

She buried her face in her hands, beginning to sob again.

 

Watching his best friend cry, Edward wished he was big enough to walk up to her Papa and hit him right back.

Why was it, he wondered, that grown ups were always allowed to mock them and hurt them, but they were never allowed to fight back? And why was it that they were even nastier to Florence and Rosalie than they were to him? It wasn’t fair!

 

Leaning forwards, he hugged Florence tightly.

“When we grow up,” he said firmly, “I’m going to make sure that your Papa can’t ever hurt you anymore.”

“How?” she asked, crying into his shoulder. “How are you going to do that, Edward?”

“Easy,” he said, with more confidence than he felt. “I’ll marry you.”

He hadn’t really planned to say that, but it sounded impressive, brave and grown up, so he did not take it back.

 

Florence leaned back from him slightly. “What?,” she asked, beginning to giggle a little through her tears. “Don’t be an idiot, Edward, I can’t marry you! We’re friends! Besides, you smell funny, because you’re a boy.”

“I _know_ we’re friends, Florence,” Edward said, shaking his head at her. “But don’t worry, we’ll be in love by then. That’s what grown ups are supposed to do when they get married, you know.”

“That’s true!” Rosalie piped up.

“And when I marry you, I’ll take you away from your Papa, and from Miss Beecham, and from every single person who wants to hurt you,” he said firmly. “They won’t be able to hurt you, because you’ll be living with _me_ , and I won’t let them.”

 

“What about me, Edward?” Rosalie asked, tugging on his hand.

“You can come and live with us, Rosie,” he answered, smiling at her. “As long as you promise not to write to Mama and Papa and tell them where we are.”

She shook her head, pressing a finger against her lips and grinning conspiratorially.

 

“We can all live together, far away from here, in London,” Edward announced. “And I will be a very good husband, Florence. I would _never_ hurt you. I promise.”

 

* * *

 

 

**1847**

 

Edward was completely frozen. He had absolutely no clue what to do, whether to run, or lie, or cry. He stared at Florence’s pale, determined face, then at the bloodstained letter from Alfred that she had laid on the table in front of her, then back at her face again.

Her jaw was set firmly, but God, he could see the pain in her eyes and he hadn’t even said anything yet.

 

His brain seemed to be filled with a fog of panic.  

After a ringing silence which seemed to him to last for an eternity, he finally opened his mouth, without having any idea of what was going to come out.

 

“It....it was you,” he heard himself saying.

His own voice sounded oddly far away, as though he was listening to someone else speaking. He swallowed, his mouth dry.

“It was you that took my letter, I mean. We….I….didn’t know where it had gone.”

 

Florence flushed a little.

“Yes,” she said defiantly, refusing to avert her eyes or look shamefaced.

“In the hospital. While you were unconscious. While I was waiting - _praying_ \- for you to wake up. And Lord Alfred….he was waiting for you, too.”

Edward flinched.

“I noticed the letter sticking out of your coat pocket, while I was desperately looking for a distraction. And I _know_ that I should not have taken it, Edward, I _know_ it was not my business. I remember thinking that perhaps it was a letter you had meant for me, one that you had not yet had the chance to post. I was terrified that I was about to read the last words you would ever address to me.”

 

Edward stared across at her, speechless.

 

“But no. The letter you were carrying next to your heart that night was from Lord Alfred. _Your_ Lord Alfred, apparently.”

 

“Florence...” he whispered, brain whirling, heart pounding. “He’s….he’s my closest friend, Florence, I….”

His voice sounded raspy. He felt as though he was starting to choke on his own lies.

 

Florence silenced him with one look. Then she pulled Alfred’s letter towards her, and began to read it aloud.

 

 _“Drummond,”_ she read, her voice shaking a little. _“I’ve been thinking about our interrupted dinner. Whether it could be revived. I understand I have no right to determine your future. But it would be a shame if you never tasted the oysters at Ciros. I will be there this evening. Yours, Alfred.”_

 

She looked at him.

“When he wrote about having ‘no right to determine your future’ - did he mean me? Was he talking about me?”

 

“Florence,” he choked again, desperately searching for something to say.

 

“And I heard you through the door, Edward, when you two were fighting,” she said quietly. “I only heard a little bit. But….I heard you saying that he was miserable, when you told him you were going to marry me.”

There was a ringing in Edward’s ears. He felt as if his heart had stopped.

 

How had their lives come to this? How had the two of them reached this point? He thought back to the little boy he’d once been, the boy who had sworn to protect his best friend, who had promised to keep her safe and never, ever to hurt her.

Somewhere in the intervening years, that determined young boy had become a hypocrite, a man who claimed that he was protecting his friend by marrying her, all the while deceiving her, lying and hiding his true self from her.

So what if he had never been lying about caring for her deeply, wanting to be her best friend? In the end, didn’t that only make his betrayal all the more painful and humiliating?

She had trusted him. And he had failed her.

 

“Please,” Florence said softly. “Please don’t lie to me, Edward. Enough.”

 

He stared at her, hot guilt and shame flooding through him.

So this was it. After months of deceit and betrayal - _years_ , if he counted all the time since he had met Alfred - he had finally reached the end of the line.

 

He swallowed, and nodded shakily.

He supposed there was no point denying that he’d been lying now. He would only make himself even _more_ of a hypocrite, only hurt her even more.

 

“You and Lord Alfred….there’s something more, isn’t there,” she said quietly, slowly.

 

Feeling that he might faint, he stared at her for a moment, and then nodded again.

 

“You’re….you’re in love with him,” she said, her voice scarcely louder than a whisper.

It did not sound like a question. It sounded like she was looking for confirmation of something she already knew.

 

The moment felt strangely surreal, as though Edward had floated out of his own body, as though he was watching the scene unfold before him from the corner of the room.

He had no idea what to do or say. Somehow, somewhere, everything had slipped out of his control.

 

There was a deafening silence as Edward tried to remember how to breathe. She was still waiting for his answer - but he could not seem to find his voice.

Finally, he gave a small nod.

 

He heard Florence’s breath hitch sharply in her throat. She closed her eyes briefly, as though willing herself not to break down.

Apparently, it was one thing for her to suspect, even for her to be almost certain she was right - but another thing altogether for her to see him confirm it.

He felt a sickening lurch of self-loathing deep in his stomach. Part of him longed to reach across the table and hold her hand, offer her comfort - but he did not think she would accept it from him. Besides, he did not feel worthy of touching her at the moment.

He sat there, waiting for her to gather herself, wishing he could sink through the floor and disappear.

 

“How long?” she asked, finally opening her eyes and meeting his gaze across the table. “How long have you been lying to me, Edward? And why, _why_?”

Her voice cracked, and Edward felt a shard of his heart snap cleanly away from the whole.

 

She was staring at him, her hazel eyes full of hurt, glistening with unshed tears.

He was really trying to hold himself together. But no, he could not do it, not when he could see that he was making her cry. It was all too much.

 

He leaned forwards, resting his head in his hands, his breath catching painfully in his throat as his body began heaving with sobs.

 

“Why are _you_ crying, Edward?” Florence demanded indignantly, her own voice thick with tears.

 

“Because….I’m sorry, Florence, I’m sorry, I’m so, so, _so_ sorry,” he choked out, his words barely coherent. “I _never_ wanted to hurt you, and knowing that I have failed you, it’s tormented me every single day, God, _please_ believe me….”

 

She looked at him.

“How can I believe you, Edward?” she asked quietly. “How can I trust you?”

He flinched at the biting edge in her voice. She was lashing out at him - and how could he blame her for it?

“You have been lying to me ever since our wedding day - longer, even, for all I know.”

His eyes sank shut.

“You’re right. I have,” he whispered, the self-loathing twisting sharply in his stomach again.

 

She choked on another sob.

“But _why_ , though?” she demanded. “I really thought we could learn to be best friends again, Edward. You were an honest, decent boy….I thought you had grown into an honest, decent man.”

 

His breath hitched again as he stared at her.

All those times he had lain awake at night, hating himself, berating himself for betraying his own principles, allowing himself to turn into a liar and a false friend.

Whenever he had voiced any of these worries to Alfred, Alfred had held him, trying to comfort him, murmuring to him that he was _not_ a false friend, he was a brave, kind and caring man doing the best he could in an impossible situation.

But Florence was not trying to comfort him. She agreed with him - he had let himself  become corrupted. He _was_ a liar, he _was_ a false friend.

 

“Florence, I did not _want_ to lie,” he whispered through his tears.

“It killed me to do it. But I did not think I had any other choice.”

 

She glared at him.

“How could you possibly have no other choice but to lie to me, Edward?”

 

He ran the tip of his tongue over his lips, his mouth dry.

“Florence….” he croaked. “You have to understand. Alfred and I are in danger. Immense danger. All the time. Every day. According to the law of the land, both of us are abominations, against nature. According to the law, we deserve to be punished, we _have_ to be punished.”

 

Florence stared at him in shock, and he saw her hazel eyes soften slightly.

“But you are _not_ an abomination, Edward,” she said, sounding bewildered at the very notion. “ _Obviously._ You are nothing of the kind.”

 

He stared back at her for a moment, letting her words sink in, and then he pressed a shaking fist against his mouth, trying to fight back the overwhelming wave of emotion. She was furious and hurt that he had lied to her, betrayed her, and he could hardly blame her….and yet, she was not recoiling from him, declaring him a monster or disgusting because he was in love and in lust with Alfred. He did not feel he could begin to explain to her what that meant to him.

 

He swallowed, struggling to gather himself.

“I know that I am not an abomination,” he said quietly. “Although, I confess, when I first realised how I felt, it….it took me a while to accept that I was not.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to push away the memories of his bitter self-hatred.

 

“But neither is Alfred,” he insisted.

Her expression hardened again.

“Please, Florence,” he pushed on, despite the twinge of hurt at her reaction to Alfred’s name. “I understand that you might not be well-disposed towards him, at least not at the moment, but Alfred really is the sweetest, kindest man in the world. He is the best man I have ever known. He has had to hide his true self from the world for _years_ , far longer than I have. And he does not deserve it, he does not _deserve_ to be in such danger all the time, to live in fear all his life.”

 

She just looked at him.

 

“I _couldn’t_ tell you, Florence, even though I felt sick with guilt,” Edward croaked. “I could not tell _anyone_ . It is only half my secret to tell. Every single person who knows puts Alfred in more danger, whether intentionally or not. And I _cannot_ jeopardise Alfred. Please, Florence, you have to understand that.”

 

He looked at her pleadingly, and she looked back at him. He could not read the expression on her face. He wondered for a moment if she was about to start shouting at him, throwing things at him.

Once again, the silence seemed to stretch endlessly between them, the relentless ticking of the clock the only sound in the room.

 

Then Florence stood up abruptly, and Edward flinched slightly.

“I am going to bed now, Edward,” she said, her voice tight with the effort to suppress her tears.

 

He stood up, too, guilt and panic coursing through him in waves, his heart still pounding. Surely, she was not just going to _leave_? Without telling him what she was thinking, without a word about whether he was forgiven?

 

“Florence, _please_ ,” he whispered. “I am so, _so_ sorry, _please_ believe me -”

 

“I need to think, Edward,” she said, cutting him off. “I will see you tomorrow. And please go to the spare bedroom. I need some space tonight.”

 

Before he could say another word, she had brushed past him, keeping her face resolutely turned away from him as she left the room.

 

Left alone in the room with nothing but the ticking of the clock for company, Edward stood there, panic making him dazed, his hands trembling as he struggled to control his breathing.

Apparently, the conversation was closed, at least for the moment. But he still had no clue what Florence was going to do with the information she had.

He struggled to think clearly, trying to form a plan.

 _Alfred._ No matter what happened next, what Florence was planning, he needed to tell Alfred.

 

He practically ran to his study, pulling paper and quill towards him and scribbling furiously.

Sealing the letter carefully, he tugged forcefully on the bell pull next to his desk. The butler, Gerson, opened the study door barely a moment later.

“You rang, Mr Drummond?”

“Yes - how quickly could you ensure that a letter was delivered to the palace, Gerson?” he asked hurriedly. “Rather urgent….political matters….Lord Palmerston….”

He knew he was rambling ridiculously, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Gerson raised one eyebrow slightly, but made no comment on the strangeness of his behaviour.

“I could ensure your letter arrived within about half an hour, sir, if that suits.”

“Yes, thank you, Gerson,” he said, struggling to keep his voice calm and steady. “It really is an urgent matter, so just as long as you could see to it that the letter is delivered to the palace as soon as possible, without fail?”

Gerson bowed his head. “Of course, sir.”

“Thank you,” Edward said, handing it to him hastily.

Gerson nodded, turning to leave the room. “I will see you in the morning. Goodnight, Gerson.”

“Goodnight, sir.”

 

Gerson closed the study door behind him, and Edward listened intently, hearing the low murmur of servants conversing outside. A few moments later, the front door closed, and he heard the trundle of wheels on cobblestones and the clopping of hooves as the carriage moved away from the house.

He went and pushed the window open, leaning out to watch the carriage disappearing in the direction of the palace. His heart was still beating painfully hard, and he took a moment to breathe in the cool night air deeply, trying to calm himself.

 

The sound of the carriage wheels faded into the distance.

Despite the lateness of the hour, Edward immediately walked to the coat rack, pulled on his coat and top hat, opened the front door, and set off into the night.

 

 

* * *

 

“I don’t know why on earth I let you convince me to play on your side against my fiance, Harriet,” Alfred complained. “She wipes the floor with us whenever we play whist.”

“Speak for yourself!” Harriet said indignantly.

“What? It’s true, she does,” he insisted.

Cecilia smirked at him, taking the cards and beginning to shuffle them again.

“Another round?”

He grimaced, standing up and stretching.

“Thank you for the offer, but I think I have suffered quite enough defeats for one evening. It’s getting late, I might retire -”

 

“Lord Alfred!” came a familiar voice from behind him.

He turned to see the young pageboy Brodie half-running towards him, looking rather breathless.

“Rather late in the evening for running, isn’t it, Brodie?” he asked mildly.

“There’s a letter for you, Lord Alfred,” Brodie explained hastily. “I was told it was a matter of urgency.”

Alfred frowned as he looked down at the letter Brodie was proffering, recognising Edward’s handwriting immediately, though it was more of an untidy scrawl than usual. He was already due to meet Edward tomorrow night - why would Edward suddenly feel the urge to send him a message so late in the evening?

 

Taking the letter from Brodie and ripping it open, he felt his stomach flip over as he read Edward’s hastily scribbled words. He had not even bothered with a greeting.

 

_Come to the usual place, AS SOON AS YOU GET THIS. URGENT._

_Drummond_

 

He looked up, breathing hard, his heart pounding uncomfortably.

Something was badly wrong. Edward needed him. Now.

 

“Alfred? Is everything alright?” Harriet asked in concern.

“Hmm?” Alfred asked vaguely. He was struggling to concentrate on anything except Edward.

“Oh...yes….fine….I….change of plans, I have to go, something’s come up….”

Cecilia caught his eye across the table. “Mr Drummond?” she murmured in an undertone, loud enough for Harriet and Wilhemina to catch her words, but not Brodie.

Alfred nodded jerkily, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Wilhemina drop her gaze to the table, flushing scarlet as guilt flashed across her face. He did not have time to dwell on it.

“Would you like company?” Cecilia asked him quietly.

“No, I….thank you….I have to go, I will see you all tomorrow, goodnight,” he said, his heart in his throat.

“Goodnight,” they chorused. Already halfway to the door, he barely heard them.

 

A few minutes later and he was mounted on one of the palace’s fastest horses, galloping through the dark streets towards the house that George had lent them, despite the fact that it was past midnight.

Breathing a sigh of relief as he reached the house, he practically launched himself off the horse, barely remembering to secure him in the stable before running to the front door and pounding on it.

Scarcely two seconds later, Edward wrenched the door open, pulling him inside.

 

Kicking the door shut behind him, Alfred gripped his lover by the shoulders and steered him backwards, pushing him towards the living room and forcing him to sit down on the sofa.

Edward sat there, shaking, his face buried in his hands. Alfred got up, went to the sideboard, and poured him a measure of whiskey, though this was made rather more difficult by the fact that his own hands were shaking so much.

“Drink,” he ordered, sitting next to Edward on the sofa. He obeyed, taking his hands away from his face finally, and Alfred was shocked to see how red-rimmed his eyes were. Once he’d drained the glass, Alfred took it from him and placed it down on the table.

 

“Now, look at me,” he said firmly, trying to keep his voice steady as he grasped both Edward’s hands in his own, “and tell me what’s wrong, Edward. Please. You are frightening me.”

 

Edward drew in great shuddering breaths. “Alfred….please….do not be angry with me, I never meant for….”

“God, just _tell_ me, Edward!” Alfred snapped, impatient fear making his voice sharper than he had intended.

Edward flinched. “It’s Florence, Alfred. She knows.”

 

There was a ringing silence. Alfred wondered for a moment if he had misheard Edward. Or perhaps he was having a nightmare.

“What?” he whispered.

“My wife,” Edward answered, his entire face contorting in shame and fear. “She knows, Alfred.”

Alfred stared at him, feeling as though the bottom of his stomach had fallen through the earth. “What do you mean, she knows? _What_ does she know?”

“Everything,” Edward choked out. “Oh god, Alfred, she knows everything.”

Alfred’s eyes sank shut, and he shook his head vehemently, as though he could erase Edward’s words from his brain.

“No. No,” he said, his voice shaking. “It’s not possible….”

“I assure you, it is,” Edward answered, his voice thick with tears.

 

Alfred stood up abruptly, still shaking his head as he backed away.

“But….but…. _how_ ? Edward, did you _tell_ her?!”

“Of course I didn’t tell her!” he answered indignantly. “It wasn’t like that, Alfred, she’d already figured it out by herself! She had the letter, the letter you sent me on the night I was shot. She’s had it all these months….”

 

Alfred felt his breaths coming sharp, fast and painful. The room was blurring as tears came to his eyes, and there seemed to be nothing but a white fog of panic in his head. He had never felt such a loss of control; it was terrifying. He wondered for a split second if he was going to faint.

 

Suddenly, he felt large, warm, familiar hands, gently cupping his face, bringing him back to earth, grounding him.

“Breathe, my darling.” He heard Edward’s beautiful deep voice as though from a long way away. “Just breathe.”

Forcing himself to take deep, heaving breaths, he wound his arms tightly around Edward’s waist, pressing his face into Edward’s chest and squeezing his eyes shut. Anchoring himself.

Edward wrapped his arms around him in turn, clutching him just as tightly, evidently needing to feel his presence just as much. Alfred could feel the man he loved trembling against him, as Edward pressed a shaky kiss to the top of his head.

They stayed like that for a few moments, breathing each other in.

 

“Edward, what if she tells her father?” Alfred whispered into his chest, unable to keep his fears silent.

He felt Edward’s entire body tense up for a moment, and then he shook his head vehemently against Alfred’s hair.

“No,” Edward said, the terror plain in his voice. “No, no, no, she would not do that!”

“How could you possibly know that, Edward?” Alfred demanded, his breathing becoming faster and shallower again. “She might let it slip to him, she might let it slip to anyone, for God’s sake! She might even do it on purpose. I mean, she must be utterly furious with you, Edward, what if she wants revenge?”

“No,” Edward said, sounding as though he was trying to convince himself as much as Alfred. “Florence is not like that, Alfred. I swear, she’s not!”

He looked up at Edward, tracing his eyes over his terrified face. He knew Florence far better than Alfred did, it was true. But it seemed wildly optimistic, to the point of foolhardiness, to hope that there would be no fallout, no consequences, now that she knew Edward had betrayed her.

 

Alfred swallowed, hardly able to believe that things had come to this. He reached up, his hands still trembling as he placed them on Edward’s cheeks.

“We need to make a plan, my darling, he whispered. This entire conversation felt so surreal that part of him still wondered if he was dreaming. “We may need to run.”

Edward stared down at him for a moment, before shaking his head, bringing his hand up to grasp Alfred’s, which was still cupping his face.

“No, my love. Think, we cannot run. You are supposed to be getting married, remember? You promised to protect Cecilia by marrying her.”

Alfred stared back at the man he loved, his stomach sinking as he realised his point. “I know I did,” he whispered.

“So, you cannot abandon her, and you can hardly be much help to her if you make yourself a fugitive, and her with you,” Edward reminded him.

“True….” Alfred responded reluctantly, wishing that Edward had not chosen this moment to be wise, of all times.

“And besides, even if Florence….even if she hates me,” Edward continued, grimacing, sounding as though he was choking on the word, “she is still carrying my child, Alfred. There is no way in hell I am going to abandon my baby before it is even born.”

 

Alfred sighed heavily, knowing Edward was absolutely right.

Simultaneously, they leaned forwards, pressing their foreheads together gently. Alfred closed his eyes, feeling tears rolling down his cheeks.

 

“What are we going to do, Edward?” he choked out.

There was silence for a moment.

“I don’t know,” Edward responded finally. “You cannot leave Lady Cecilia, and I cannot leave my child.”

Alfred grimaced as the realisation sunk in that Edward had no plan. Neither of them had any plan.

After another moment of silence, Edward brought his hands to Alfred’s face again, tilting his chin so that their eyes locked.

“All I know is this,” Edward murmured quietly, tears running down his own face. “No matter what happens, I will never abandon you. I promised that once, many months ago, and now I am promising it again.”

He brought his mouth to Alfred’s desperately, and Alfred could taste the fear, the pain, the love and the promise on his lips.

“No matter what happens, I will always love you more than anything in the world,” Edward said, sounding firm and certain for the first time all night.

“I am so sorry that I cannot make the world a better place for us.”

 

Alfred stared at him, overwhelmed.

After a split second, he pulled Edward back towards him, burying his fingers in the soft brown curls as he brought their lips together again fiercely.

They pulled apart only when the need for air became inescapable, and for a few moments they just stood there in silence, stroking each other’s faces as they breathed each other in.

“I love you more than anything too, Edward,” Alfred whispered, his voice cracking.

“Whatever happens, I will handle it. Just so long as nobody takes you away from me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, please don't kill me....
> 
> I will probably have to slow down in my writing a little from now on, as I'm just about to head back to uni for my last semester, plus I'm moving house in about three weeks so that's fun....But I promise, I shall be back as soon as I can!
> 
> As always, thank you so much to all the people supporting this fic with kudos and comments - you make my day and I really do love writing this for all of you! Sorry about all the endless angst and pain - it will eventually get better, I swear <3 <3 <3 xxx

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter: Edward struggles to come to terms with the 'sinfulness' of his feelings, and comes to the conclusion that he wants out of his engagement. But, as Alfred would tell him, that is much easier said than done!
> 
> Feedback and comments are wonderful and make my day <3 <3 xxx


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